THE DUNGEON HARP: 

BEING A NUMBER OF 

Cortical ^ims> 

WRITTEN DURING 

A CRUEL IMPRISONMENT OF THREE YEARS 

IN THE DUNGEONS OF BEVERLEY; 

ALSO, 

A FULL PROOF OF THE PERJURY PERPETRATED, 
AGAINST THE AUTHOR, 

BY SOME OF 
THE HIRED AGENTS OF THE AUTHORITIES. 



BY ROBERT PEDDIE. 



Ou ! tell how the brave oft have perished, 

But liberty never can die ! 
It lives with the heart it hath cherislvd, 

'Twill blossom and brighten on high. 
The captive, though fetter'd would never 

Exulfc with the weight of his chain, 
Were it not that the soul lives for ever, 

Where tyranny never can reign. 



EDINBURGH : 

PRINTED FOR THE AUTHOR, 15 W. RICHMOND ST. 



1844. 



M 






205449 
.'13 



Edinburgh : Printed by H. Armour, 54 South Bridge. 









PREFACE. 



In presenting this little book to the Public, it may be 
well to state, that its appearance is not attributable to 
any undue estimate the Author has formed of his powers 
of writing verse ; but, on the contrary, it was with con- 
siderable reluctance that he agreed to permit its publica- 
tion, and not till after much solicitation from his own 
friends and many friends of liberty, and after having had 
the opinion of several persons, acknowledged judges of 
literary merit. 

I believe that the whole list of British authors can- 
not produce another instance of a man who wrote sur- 
rounded by circumstances less favourable to the play of 
imagination, or less calculated to favour the production 
of a work of this kind, than those in which the Author, 
without crime, and by the cold-blooded villainy of mon- 
sters in the human shape, was placed. 

Yet Peddie, with a long captivity before him, ex- 
posed to the super-inhuman cruelties of his merciless 
tormentors, nevertheless found means to convey to the 
world a knowledge of his sufferings, and for this pur- 
pose was his pen (as a poet) so frequently employed. 



4' 

Some of his Poems will bear a comparison with the 
best productions of modern times. How deeply his mind 
has been imbued w 7 ith the love .of liberty, may be learned 
from the evidence which his poems afford, — for he sang 
of freedom when in captivity, he spoke of pleasure in 
the midst of pain. 

To such men as Peddie must future ages be indebted 
for the victories which have yet to be gained. Posterity 
will do honour to the memory of the brave, who have 
struggled and perished for the love they bore their country 
and their kind ; and, when the principles of democracy 
are better understood, then will the virtues of the patriot 
become duly appreciated. Prejudice and cruelty must then 
retire before the influence of that intelligence, which, 
when seconded by the exertions of the wealth-producing 
millions of this country, is yet destined to give freedom 
to the world. 

David Ross. 
Leeds, May 22(7, 1844. 



INTRODUCTION 



It will be impossible for me to give any thing like a full 
account of the entrapment of Robert Peddie into the 
appearance of the commission of the act, for which he 
suffered three years of an imprisonment, unparalleled 
in this country's annals for severity. I am under the 
necessity of confining myself to a few extracts from the 
petition^ written by Peddie in prison, and presented to 
the House of Commons by Joseph Hume, Esq. This 
course will possess an advantage that would have been 
wanting in the narrative, had my limits permitted my 
having published, in this Introduction, a more regular 
and lengthy history of the events that led to the appre- 
hension of R. P. ; i. 0., that these extracts must, to the 
thinking portion of the public, carry with them the 
strongest possible proof that they are true to the very 
letter ; from this very circumstance, that this petition, 
verbatim, or nearly so, was read, in the hearing of the 
abominable Whigs, in the House of Commons, and not 
one of these cruel men had the hardihood to challenge 
one statement here published. 

To persons living in the simplicity and comparative 
innocence of private life, it will doubtless appear strange 
to tell them, that in the nineteenth century, and in 
Christian England, not a year passes over their heads 
but many persons are innocently incarcerated in our 



6 

prisons, and sent beyond seas, for crimes committed., 
not by them, but by officers of justice, and other per- 
sons in the pay of the authorities. Strange as this state- 
ment is, it is nevertheless true. The public press of the 
country is even now teeming with statements and proofs 
that in Ireland, during the last two years, no fewer 
than thirty persons have been transported for the al- 
leged commission of political offences perpetrated by 
the officers of the government themselves : it is now be- 
yond doubt, that several persons have been ruined, as 
follows: — One or more policemen fix upon a victim; 
his steps are watched till they can find an opportunity 
of slipping some Ribbon conspiracy papers into his 
pocket ; he then is seized, carried before a magistrate, 
(probably one privy to the plot), searched, and the 
documents being found on him, he is committed to prison, 
tried, convicted, of course, and transported for life up- 
on the perjured testimony of the villainous policemen ; 
while they pocket, as Harrison did, in Peddie's case, 
perhaps a hundred pounds for their villainy, and are 
raised a step in the police force. 

To those acquainted with the machinery by which 
the present system of things is continued, this will give 
no surprise. It has been long the policy of the advo- 
cates of " things as they are" to divide the people, if 
not to rank them in open hostility against each other : 
and nothing will more certainly answer their abominable 
purpose than playing upon the fears of the property 
classes, whenever an agitation demands political justice ; 
for the people acquire such strength as to become dan- 
gerous to the friends of corruption. Then, immediately, 
troops of spies and informers are let loose upon the peo- 
ple, not to watch their proceedings, but to urge them 
to the adoption, if possible, of such measures as will; 



7 

bring their leaders within the meshes of the law ; well 
knowing that an agitation, however important it may 
be, must fall for a time to the ground, if deprived of 
the guidance of its master spirits. And when these 
villainous agents of the government fail to get the peo- 
ple to adopt generally the measures likely to answer 
their devilish purposes, they set about concocting par- 
tial outbreaks or incendiarisms, so as to rouse the fears of 
the property men, — getting them to rally round the 
government and help the enemies of mankind, by these 
and other means, to crush the demand for justice. 

These were the means made use of to crush the 
Friends of the People, when the British Convention sat 
in Edinburgh, nearly half a century ago. It was by 
these means that Castlereagh brought the London con- 
spirators to the block. The government of the day were 
by similar measures enabled to shed the blood of Hardy 
and Baird in the streets of Stirling, — whose blood, from 
those streets, still cries to Heaven for vengeance on 
their murderers. And it was by similar measures that 
many Chartist leaders were, in 1839, brought within 
the power of the cruel and bloody Whigs. It is not 
without some feelings of satisfaction, that the Editor of 
this volume has learned, from the public press, that the 
Marquis of Normanby is at present urging upon the 
House of Lords an inquiry into the spy system in Ire- 
land ; although it is somewhat strange, now that the 
Whigs are out of office, they seem somewhat anxious to 
blame their political opponents for only following, with 
some little variation in the details, the example they set 
them in 1839 ! 

In now submitting the following extracts to the con- 
sideration of the reader, I must not, on behalf of Peddie, 



8 

be supposed to deny the people's right to adopt, as a 
last resource, even force, to resist oppression. There are 
some persons, whose hearts are better than their heads 
are wise, that repudiate force on all and every occasion, 
and are doing all that they can to get the working men 
to adopt their benevolent but ridiculously absurd prin- 
ciples. Peddie is no such person ; and in thus producing 
proof that the Bradford conspiracy originated with per- 
sons in the employment of the authorities, he merely 
does both himself and the authorities justice. 

It is here necessary to remark, that as soon as he was- 
liberated he returned, not to Edinburgh, but to Brad- 
ford, without one moment's delay, for the purpose of 
collecting evidence upon the spot, that he was convicted 
upon most gross and abominable falsehood. In this h& 
was eminently successful ; and, moreover, he did, at two 
public meetings in Bradford, produce such evidence, — 
calling upon the Magistrates, or others, to contradict 
him if they could. 



Letter from John Turner to Mr. Peddle. 

" Bradford, Mareh 9, 1843. 
" Sir, 

" In answer to your letter respecting my recol- 
lection of what fell from you at the meeting that took 
place at Ledget Green, three years ago, on the Sunday 
prior to the out-break in Bradford ; I recollect the cir- 
cumstance quite well ; and I also know that Harrison, 
the magistrates' spy, swore that you, on that occasion, 
did deliver a most treasonable speech, exciting the people 



to rebellion, by telling them that, if they rose in arms, 
Dr. Taylor would be with them from the north in three 
days. Sir, I shall be most ready to prove on oath at 
the bar of the House of Commons, in a court of justice, 
or in any way that seems to you most likely to promote 
the ends of justice : First, I am ready to swear that in 
the meeting in question you spoke no treason ; that 
in your speech you did not once mention Dr. Tay- 
lor's name ; or speak about his coming from the north 
at the head of an army. Moreover, I will, at any time, 
swear that Harrison could not swear to what you said 
at that meeting, because he was not there at all. Nay, 
farther, Sir, I am prepared to prove that he was at the 
village of Queen's Head, five miles from Ledget Green, 
at the time ; and did not arrive there until all the busi- 
ness of the meeting was over. 
" I am, Sir, &c., 

" John Turner, Manufacturer." 



Letter from William Halliicell to Mr. Peddle . 

" Bradford, 10th March, 1 843. 

. " Sir, 

" In answer to yours of this morning, I beg to 
state, that I not only recollect the matter you mention, 
but can inform you that I was present at your trial 
three years ago at York, and heard the spy Harrison 
give his evidence against you ; and, Sir, allow me to tell 
you, that, had the attorney who was employed by the 
people to defend you and others, examined me, I should 
have contradicted almost every word sworn by Harrison 
against you. Why I was not there permitted to give 
my evidence in your favour, has often astonished me. 

b2 



10 

6i I -will now tell you, what I am ready to swear at t3Ve 
bar of the House of Commons, or a Court of Justice T or 
any where I may be called upon so to do. 

' ; First, Harrison swore, that, in the meeting that took 
place at Ledget Green on the Sunday afternoon, imme- 
diately before the riot in Bradford, (for being the sup- 
posed leader of which you have suffered a severe im- 
prisonment), that you there spoke to the people, telling 
them, — that, if they would rise in arms to assist you, 
that in eight days you would master Yorkshire, march 
to London, overturn the Government, and establish the 
charter ; that Dr. Taylor had sent you from the north 
to rouse the men of Yorkshire, and that if they rose, you 
pledged yourself that Dr. Taylor would be with you in 
three days in Yorkshire. This, Sir, is most grossly false. 
I can swear, that, at the meeting in question, you never 
spoke one single word of that kind, never spoke one word 
about going to London or overturning the Government, 
and not one word about Dr. Taylor at all. And more, 
Sir, than that, I can swear that Harrison never heard 
you speak one word at that meeting, nor was he present 
at the meeting, nor place of meeting, till some time after 
the meeting dispersed. 

•< I am, Sir, &c. 

" William Halliwell." 



Letter from Michael Hargr eaves, and Sarah Hargv vces, 
to Mr. Peddie. 

" Bradford, 9th March, 1845 

« Sir, 

" In compliance with your request, we most 
cheerfully and readily furnish you with the evidence you 
wish. We recollect perfectly well the riot in Bradford 



11 

in the beginning of 1840; and, Sir, we are ready to swear, 
when and wherever called upon, that, on the Sunday 
night before the riot, you and our neighbour, George 
Flinn, came into our house at eight o'clock exactly, and 
remained in our public room, without once going out, 
till we shut up at ten o'clock, f 

" Michael Hargreaves, 
" Sarah Hargreaves, 

Innkeepers, Bradford." 



Letter from Paul Holdszcorth, John Rushworth, and 
Joseph Nay lor, to Mr. Peddle. 

" Bradford, 9th March, 1843. 
« Sir, 

" We, the undersigned, are ready to swear when 
ever you may think proper to call upon us, that, in the 
house of Smith, of Nelson Street, on the night before 
the Bradford riot in 1840, you did not address the 
persons present in that house, as Smith swore you did, 
in a speech, telling them that Dr. Taylor would join tl e 
men of Bradford with an army from the north; nor indeed 
could this be the case, as you did not deliver any speech 
there at all. Moreover, that you never wore round your 
waist in the market-place, at the time of the alleged 
riot, a black belt, as the policemen swore you did ; Sir, 
you did not wear any such belt even for one moment. 

" Paul Holdsworth, 
c< John Rushworth. 
" Joseph Naylor." 

* Ash ton, the queen's evidence, swore that Peddie was in Smith's 
house at 8 o'clock, examining the conspirators' arms. 



12 



Letter from George Halliwell to Mr. Peddle. 

" Bradford, 9th March, 1843. 
"Sir, 

" It was with indignation that I read, in the 
report of your trial at York, held three years ago, that 
the queen's-evidence, Ashton, swore that he found you 
in the house of Smith, Nelson Street, on the Sunday night 
before the riot in 1840, at a quarter past eight o'clock, 
and there sat with you, in the company of a number of 
armed men, whose arms he swore you there examined. 
I take the first opportunity I have had of telling you 
that I am ready to swear, either at the Bar of the House 
of Commons or a Court of Justice, that this is gross 
and wickedly false, as I was sitting that night, from 
eight to past ten o'clock, in Smith's house, where 
Ashton himself was, but yon, Sir, were not there at all, 
no, not for one moment, from eight till after ten, when 
I left. 

" I am, Sir, &c. 

" George Halliwell." 



Extracts from Mr. Peddles Petition to the House of 
Commons. 

" There is one question suggests itself, that is, if the 
Petitioners narrative is strictly true, how comes it that 
he did not make it apparent at his trial ? To that ques- 
tion he answers, in the first place, that he was a stranger, 
at a distance of upwards of 200 miles from his famil y 
and immediate friends ; that, at that time, he did not 
even know the name of somes of the persons necessary to 



13 

prove the truth of his averments ; that he had been de- 
nounced as a spy by * to the party with whom 

he was more immediately identified, and who, in con- 
sequence, looked upon him with suspicion ; that they at 
that time afforded him no assistance ; so much so, that 



* (Note by R. P.) — My Editor has clone well in suppressing the 
name of this very imprudent person. I have no wish to cause any 
more squabbling in the Chartist ranks, — there has already been 
but too much of that. It is true that this hot-headed fool has done 
something to make amends for the great injury he has done me, but 
it is also true, that he only did so when his repentance could avail 
me nothing, and when he had become one of the principal instru- 
ments of depriving me of three years of my existence ; for, had it 
not been for him, there is every probability that the suspicions of 
the Magistrates of Yorkshire would not have pointed to me at all as 
any way connected with the Bradford force. But this very consistent 
physical force Chartist leader, not content with telling the Magis- 
trates, through the public press, that I was the author and concoctor 
of the Bradford conspiracy, — but also, after he heard that there was 
a considerable sum of money offered for the apprehension of the 
leader, went to the magistrates, got two officers, and searched my 
lodgings for me ; not finding me there, actually kept them company 
for two days in the streets of Leeds, to point me out to them, should 
I happen to pass them. 

This silly or bad man's conduct might, had I possessed less firm- 
ness of character than I do, have produced much evil. For weeks, 
in York Castle, prior to my trial, attempts were made to turn the 
fact of his denouncing me as a spy, to government account. The 
folly of my permitting myself to be sacrificed for a party who treated 
me thus, was the theme of many a conversation ; nay, on the very 
day before I was put to the bar, no fewer than three distinct at- 
tempts were made to get me to give information against the Chartist 
leaders. Even my own attorney was employed to effect this pur- 
pose, and information given me that my reward would be in propor- 
tion to the importance of the discoveries they said they knew I could 
make. True, I had no disclosures to make ; but a weak or a bad 
man might have found the Avay to secure safety and wealth, and also 
an apology for his conduct in so doing, in the acts of this man. 



14 

the professional gentleman, Clarkson, sent to York front 
Bradford to assist the others at their examination, actu- 
ally refused to do so for him, although at that time it 
would have been of the utmost consequence, as, at that 
very moment, his examination was going on. Such was 
the very severe injury inflicted upon your Petitioner by 

the imprudent letter of , that his own funds were 

locked up ; his business accounts spread over the country 
•which he could not collect or command ; that a run had 
been made upon his poor wife at home, who had diffi- 
culty in paying his creditors 20s. a pound : that, under 
these circumstances, he then had not the means of bring- 
ing witnesses from a distance ; and found it even very 
difficult to provide for the otherwise very heavy ex- 
pense of his trial ; and, moreover, that he applied at 
the commencement of the assizes for information as to 
when the trial would take place, and was informed that 
he would be tried by a special commission, -which would 
not sit for two or three weeks after the termination of 
the thsn assizes ; that the charge of High Treason was 
not departed from until a very short time before he was 
put to the bar ; and that he went to trial with his ar- 
rangements incomplete ; and, moreover, that he fully 
expected an acquittal, as he did not believe it possible 
that a Jury would have believed the absurd and ridi- 
culous story of Harrison. * 



(Note by R. P.) — It is impossible for language to describe this 
indescribable monster of wickedness ; not a crime that stains human 
nature but he has committed. After the cash was expended, which 
he got from the authorities of Christian England, in return for the 
appalling perjury by which I was convicted, he recommenced his 
business avocations by stealing a horse from a farmer's field near 
Preston, liired two silly boys to take it to a public-house, then gave 



15 

" Your Petitioner shall now proceed to lay before 
your Hon. House the treatment to which he is sub- 
jected, in consequence of a sentence of Court, as he still 
thinks, most undeservedly. In doing so, he must again 
throw himself upon your indulgence, which, when your 
Honourable House recollects that he has been all this 
time deprived of pen, ink, paper, — not even allowed a 
slate or pencil, — that no communication is permitted 
to take place between the prisoners, and that the utmost 
vigilance of the Governor and his officers is used to pre- 
vent the prisoners from obtaining any information ; and 
so extreme is that vigilance that a man may be dead in 
his cell, and his next neighbour be ignorant of the oc- 
currence. 

" Upon Monday the 23d of March last, about eleven 
o'clock, forenoon, your Petitioner, in company with his 
fellow-sufferer Drake, an old man about 60, (who was 
tried upon the same charge with himself, and who, he 

information that the boys had stolen it, and would have transported 
the poor innocents, had not an accident led to the detection of his 
own guilt: he was convicted of this act, and sentenced to two years'' 
imprisonment. Many men have been hung on this incarnate devil's 
evidence. While governments are permitted to employ such wretches, 
no man's life or liberty is safe. 

The above letters contain a pointed contradiction of every point 
of importance in the evidence upon which R. Peddie was convicted. 
Ten times more than the above might have been published, but I 
think that I have given enough to convince every rational mind, that 
the testimony in favour of the prosecution was a tissue of falsehood. 
It is only necessary, further, to say that the witnesses themselves 
were of a class and character but very little intitled to credit ; two 
policemen, one queen's evidence, Ashton, the two hired spies, Har- 
rison and Smith, themselves the authors of the conspiracy and con- 
eoctors of the outbreak, one of whom, Harrison, a thief, a brothel 
keeper, a forger, a passer of bad money, and an honourable employee 
of the British Government. 



16 

is ready upon oath to declare, made no part of the party 
of alleged rioters, either in Smith's house, or in the 
market place,) were called out of the ward at York 
Castle into another room, where they were shortly put 
in irons ; chained to each other by both hands and feet, 
and then chained to three convicted felons and a woman ; 
in about two hours afterwards they were brought to the 
castle-gate, and, in the public street, amidst a crowd of 
spectators, put upon a carriage, not a van for the con- 
veyance of prisoners, but a public stage-coach, which, 
with the exception of the seats reserved outside for them, 
was full of passengers ; and thus exposed to the gaze, 
and often to the rude jest of the crowd that assembled 
at each stage, they were carried to Beverley. On arriving 
at this place they had their irons knocked off, and were 
brought into a building without fire ; and were imme- 
diately ordered to strip, their own clothes taken from 
them, and locked up. They were then locked up in 
separate cells, supperless, not having had any food since 
the water-gruel and bread that they had had for break- 
fast in York Castle. Next morning your Petitioner was 
supplied with a quart of gruel and a small brown loaf, 
said to be half-a-pound, of the coarsest bread that he 
had ever seen made use of by human beings as an article 
of food ; ail that day and all the next, were they thus 
kept locked up, without either their own clothes or any 
other ; and were consequently obliged to lie in bed, or 
to walk in their cold cells in their shirts till the next 
afternoon about four o'clock. They were then taken 
into an another apartment, their shirts taken from them, 
and each supplied with the usual coarse prison dress, a 
pair of wooden shoes or clogs, their hair cut, and other- 
wise put in the prison attire. Next morning, about half 
past six, they were called out of bed, brought to the 



17 

shed for washing, and immediately after put into a build- 
ing where the tread-mill is placed, and compelled, as a 
matter of course, to ascend it. As the labour of this 
machine constitutes the monster grievance under which 
your Petitioner groans, he therefore entreats for it the 
attention of your Honourable House. It is here placed 
in a building open at one side, and secured by a strong 
iron railing, iron gates, &c. but completely open, so that 
the wheel, and the person labouring upon it, are fully 
seen by visitors and others walking outside the rails, and 
where they are daily exposed to gratify the idle curiosity 
of spectators, like wild beasts in a menagerie. The 
place for the prisoners is divided into small cribs or com- 
partments, of about twenty-four inches in breadth, about 
twelve feet in height, and seven in length ; close in front 
and sides, so as to prevent the free circulation of air, 
which, in warm weather, adds much to the prisoners' 
sufferings. At the far, or close end of this crib, the 
treading boards of the mill-wheel project through a slip 
in the front partition, so as to allow the feet of the pri- 
soner to reach it, at'about ten feet from the ground ; a bar 
of wood is placed for the hands, without which the pri- 
soner could not support himself upon the wheel when 
so placed, suspended as he is between heaven and earth, 
shut out from the view of any thing, even of his fellow- 
prisoners, that might, by engaging his attention, possibly 
for a moment lessen the sense of his suffering; com- 
pelled, by the regulations of this prison, to keep his face 
always turned to the wall before him, the turning his 
head round, even to get a mouthful of air, is a breach of 
the regulations, which are strictly enforced by an officer 
placed behind the prisoners, who walks in cloth shoes, 
so as not to be heard by them he is in charge of; and 
whose duty it is to report to the governor any breach 



18 

of the rules, who punishes the person offending by de- 
priving him of his supper, or sending him to solitary 
confinement for three days, upon a small loaf a day and 
water. Thus placed, in a situation more truly distress- 
ing than it is in the power of language to paint, the pri- 
soner is obliged to keep treading the mill for the space 
of twenty minutes at a time ; that is to say, he must, at 
his utmost speed, keep treading the boards, until he has 
accomplished, in a direct perpendicular line, an ascent of 
eleven hundred steps ; he is then allowed an interval of 
ten minutes' rest; this is done three times before 
breakfast, six times from that to dinner, and nine times 
from that to supper. It is not in your Petitioner's power 
to convey to your Honourable House what he painfully 
feels to be the extreme severity of this labour. He shall 
now state, without exaggeration, or attempting to give 
a high colouring to the picture, the effects produced by 
this barbarous labour upon himself, and what he pain- 
fully feels to be true. By the time that he has made 
the third or fourth hundred steps, his body is covered 
with a most profuse sweat ; not what is meant by that 
word in its ordinary acceptation, but, in reality with the 
perspiration dropping from his forehead and body like 
heavy drops in a shower of rain ; by the end of the 
twenty minutes, every article of dress, and he wears as 
few as possible, is wet ; his shirt, in truth, so much so, 
as if taken unrung from a washing- tub; even the leathers 
of his braces and body-belt yield out the moisture upon 
pressure as a sponge does water : by the time that he has 
accomplished the seven or eight hundred steps, he is most 
generally seized with giddiness of the head, dimness of 
sight, and very frequently with sickness and the desire 
of vomiting, and not unfrequently with vomiting itself; 
and by the time he has accomplished the whole eleven 



19 

hundred steps, his state of body from fatigue and suffer- 
ing is past his power of description ; and the effect upon 
his system, he is, from his own feelings, but too pain- 
fully convinced, must in the end prove lastingly injurious 
to health, even if it should not prove ultimately fatal ; 
but which, from his own experience, and what effects 
he sees it produce upon others, he is fully persuaded, if 
pressed to the full, will in all probability be the case. 
Nor can he here omit to mention that his sufferings from 
thirst when on the mill are very great ; indeed so much 
so, that a handful of water, none being allowed to be 
taken from the whitening pits, is eagerly sought by 
stealth, and considered a luxury. It is perhaps a judi- 
cious measure to keep water, at least the free use of it, 
from the prisoners, in the unnaturally excited and warm 
state of their body, but, a cupful, at proper intervals, 
might greatly alleviate their sufferings. He will not 
attempt to describe all the painful effects and dangerous 
symptoms that he feels produced upon his own body by 
the operation of the tread-mill, lest your Honourable 
House should think that, for the purpose of enlisting 
public sympathy in his favour, he was conjuring up a 
fancy-drawn picture of imaginary misery ; but that all 
do suffer is evident from the following fact, that nine out 
of every ten persons are scarcely more than ten, or at 
the most fourteen, days, in this house, before they re- 
quire the aid of the Surgeon. 

In making these statements, the Petitioner trusts that 
your Honourable House will believe that he does so, not 
for the purpose of creating a prejudice against Beverley 
House of Correction, or of pointing public indignation 
against its officials ; but that he is compelled by the 
duty he owes his suffering and devoted wife and family 
and himself, to state such facts as tend to shew to your 



20 

Honourable House the great necessity there is in grant- 
ing an inquiry into the discipline and treatment to which 
for the first time, in Britain, political prisoners are sub- 
jected, and, in the event of the inquiry being made, he 
has no doubt, but that such a mitigation of his own 
sufferings will take place, as will afford him the pleasant 
prospect of again joining his family, — a prospect which 
at this moment appears but very faint indeed. 

" Your Petitioner cannot help stating to your Honour- 
able House one case, a melancholy and fatal one, which 
has made a deep impression upon his mind. It is that 
of a young man, named Creaser, a native of Yorkshire. 
What induced the Petitioner to watch him more than 
others was the circumstance that he was confined with 
him for about seven weeks in York Castle, before they 
were brought to Beverley Gaol. When in York Prison, 
he found him of an unoffending, quiet, and obliging dis - 
position; modest in his behaviour, and that he did not 
take any pleasure in the profane and obscene conversation 
of the others. He was then, so far as non-professional 
observation could discover, healthy, nay, robust, and, 
without exception, the most healthy person out of the 
1 7 others in the same ward. He was brought here with 
him, and with him put upon the mill for about three 
months. He seemed to bear up in its dreadful infliction 
pretty well, but after that time a very sensible alteration 
took place in his appearance. His face, formerly ruddy, 
became white and colourless ; his features sharp and 
thin. These symptoms continued to increase till with- 
in a few days ago, when he disappeared, and he has 
learned that on Sunday the 8th November he expired, 
without a friendly eye to pity him, or hand to wipe the 
death-damp from his brow. Leaving a melancholy fore- 
boding, that unless your Honourable House and the 



21 

British public throw the shield of your protection around 
the Petitioner, that his fate will ultimately be the same. 
At the inquest held on his body, it would doubtless be 
made to appear that the prisoner died from the effects 
of disease, and that such was the case he does not doubt ; 
but be that disease what it may, he is confident that it 
was increased, if not caused, by the tread-mill, and that 
bis death was accelerated by it. * 

M In submiting the above case to your Hon. House, 
your Petitioner may be allowed to ask, that if such are 
the effects of the mill and the discipline of this house 
upon robust persons, confined for a limited period, what 
must its effects be upon the Petitioner in three years ? 
The only answer that can be given is, that if this sen- 
tence is inflicted to its full extent, it is physically 
impossible that he can survive. 

" Engaged in this hard labour, or rather torture, the 
Petitioner passed the first six or seven weeks of his 
imprisonment, after which he was occasionally employed 
in piling stones in the stone-yard, and breaking stones ; 
but principally at the mill. We shall here take leave 
to notice some circumstances which painfully illustrate 
the effect of the Silent System. One day in the stone- 
yard, while the Petitioner was employed in piling up 



* One reason why so few deaths appear in the printed Prison 
Reports yearly, is this, — that as soon as a person sinks under the 
murderous discipline of the truly called hell holes, the fact is imme- 
diately intimated to the Home Office, when, without delay, an order 
for the prisoner's liberation is despatched, and, if able to walk or be 
removed in any way, he is sent out to die ; and thus the prison re- 
porters are not obliged to notice his death, and all disagreeable in- 
quiry is quashed. Were it not so, R. P. has no doubt but that 
very disagreeable consequences must long since have resulted to 
many a magisterial priest and human jailor. 



22 

stones, a considerable height above his head, beside a 
feeble old man, who, like himself, was unaccustomed to 
such labour, he saw a large stone above this man's 
head giving way ; but not being permitted to speak to 
him to warn him of his danger, under a dread of three 
days' solitary confinement on bread and water, he 
rushed forward, and fortunately prevented the stone 
falling upon him ; but received it upon his own hand, 
the thumb of which received considerable injury. A 
similar instance he may be allowed to mention ; it oc- 
curred in the same yard. He was engaged in piling 
stones, and he was upon the pile, twelve or fourteen 
feet from the ground. At the distance of about two 
yards from him, he perceived several very heavy stones 
giving way. There was then a man, No. 14, stooping 
with his head to the ground, immediately beneath the 
stone, whom the Petitioner by a breach of the regula- 
tions alarmed, just in time to make him remove his 
head from the very spot where the stone fell. If he 
had not done so, the man's destruction was inevitable ; 
and that he did so, at the risk of punishment, will ap- 
pear from the fact, that only a few days before he had, 
in passing poor old Drake, spoken a single word to him, 
without thinking, for which high crime and misdemeanor 
he was sent to bed supperless. 

" But it is upon the Sabbath that the most disagreeable 
part of the silent system is most painfully felt. The 
prisoners, generally about forty-five in number, are kept 
in a mess-room, with the exception of the time spent in 
Chapel, seated upon a narrow board or form, without 
any support to the back, having a similar board for a 
table before them. Two officers, seated upon raised seats, 
with their faces to the prisoners, so that the face of 
every person is completely observed. The prisoners are 



23 

obliged to sit with their faces to the wall, without change 
of position the whole day. Even the leaning of their 
head upon the hand, or their arms npon the table or 
board, is a breach of the regulations ; speaking the least 
word subjects them to three days' bread and water and the 
dark dungeon. Even coughing aloud is a punishable 
offence ; nor is that the worst ; the most urgent calls of 
nature must obey the nod and will of the officers. There 
is but one privy in use, the greatest part of the day ; 
and frequently the inconvenience arising from that cir- 
cumstance is severely felt ; but let a fact speak for itself. 
Upon the last Sunday in July, as nearly as he can re- 
collect the date, a man, No. 45, stood up at an early 
hour in the morning, and remained a considerable time 
unsatisfied. The usual way, as speaking is not allowed, 
of intimating to the officers that the persons wish to go 
out, is this method of standing up until his number is 
taken down : the prisoner sitting down again till called 
upon afterwards, which sometimes happens to be hours 
thereafter. About four o'clock that afternoon, No. 45 
expressed to the officer, in strong but in by no means 
disrespectful terms, his uneasiness, for which offence he 
was forthwith sentenced to three days' Black-hole ! These 
last two Sundays the prisoners have been allowed to 
walk for some time in the yard, which adds in some de- 
gree to their comfort, or more properly speaking, lessens 
their pain. 

" It is unnecessary to tell your Hon. House that 
the Silent System is said to be a necessary and a good 
one ; that it prevents the tyro in crime from being cor- 
rupted by the hardened offender. How this may be 
the case, he shall not pretend to inquire ; but here it 
is not even necessary for that purpose, as there is abun- 
dant and ample accommodation for proper classification ; 



24 

but independent of that, your Petitioner does feel it a hard- 
ship, that he, and his fellow-prisoners, convicted of poli- 
tical offences only, should be subjected to the operation 
of that or any other treatment, fit and deserved only by 
the very worst of felons. In this truly miserable thral- 
dom did he spend the first three months of his unhappy 
existence; a state of existence to which death itself is 
preferable. By that time the symptoms he has al- 
ready described as being produced upon him increased in 
intensity, and others of a truly alarming nature suc- 
ceeding, he applied to the Surgeon, who upon examining 
his person, said, that he did not think that any disease 
was as yet formed ; but that what he felt was the effect 
of the mill, and ordered him to be taken from it, which 
was immediately done for some days. The immediate 
consequence was a partial restoration to health. After 
some little time, he was again put upon the wheel ; but 
only to half time. This, although still painful to him, 
and still hard labour, was much less than formerly. He 
was only a short time so employed, when he was re- 
moved from the mill, locked up in a room by him- 
self, and engaged in making and mending clothes for 
the prisoners ; an employment to which he had not been 
bred, but that to him was neither hurtful nor disagree- 
able. This circumstance he mentions with pleasure, as 
he wishes to state any thing he can, consistent with 
truth, in favour of those in whose custody he is placed. 
" By the end of the third month, to such a state of 
weakness was your Petitioner reduced by excessive 
labour, coupled with the very meagre prison diet, that, 
in actual weight, he had lost above one stone and a 
half ; but finding, after he was taken from the mill, his 
appetite return, nay, the sensation of hunger becoming 
pungent, he applied to the Magistrates for an addition 



25 

to the ordinary prison diet, which request was referred 
to the Surgeon, who, after a strict scrutiny of his person, 
ordered an addition in the shape of oatmeal and milk, 
which he is happy to state, affords him one wholesome 
diet every twenty-four hours. In regard to the rest of 
the food, he will not trouble your Honourable House 
with a complaint, but merely state, that to a person ac- 
customed to the ordinary decencies of life, it is served up 
in a manner both filthy and disgusting. He remained 
employed as above till the last week in July, when he 
was again ordered to the mill for the one half of the day, 
full time. The weather (in July) was then extremely 
warm, which much added to the intensity of his suffer- 
ings; his appetite almost entirely left him. His head, 
as before, became dizzy ; his vision again became dim ; 
and he was seized with a pain in his breast, which still 
continues. He was daily seized with vomiting, and very 
frequently obliged to leave the wheel by it, which can 
be proved by the officer, who, out of humanity, supplied 
him occasionally with a little water, to wash his mouth 
after vomiting. The perspiration was extremely copious ; 
so much so, that at the expiry of each forenoon s labour 
he was obliged to strip his shirt, and hang it upon the 
iron bars of his window to dry till next morning, by 
which time it scarcely once was dry. Thus continued 
he daily getting worse ; a disease was produced upon 
him by it, for which he made use of some mercurial 
ointment, supplied him by the Surgeon, but in a very 
small quantity. He has known more applied to a child 
without producing any visible effects, but which, after 
some little time, produced effects upon his person asto- 
nishing to both the Surgeon and himself. Upon the 19th 
of August, in addition to his other sufferings, he expe- 
rienced a very severe pain and weakness in the left knee 

c 



26 

joint. The pain of which, when upon the mill, was 
past his endurance, and which still continues when em- 
ployed on that barbarous machine. In the afternoon of 
that day, he was ordered to the mill, full time, and the 
pain continued to get worse, so that he found it impos- 
sible to remain all the twenty minutes upon the mill, 
but he continued to ascend as usual. He was in the 
hope that the pain might be removed by a night's rest, 
and, with that hope, he next morning ascended the wheel 
as usual ; but to remain on it, he found to be impos- 
sible. His body, as the event proved afterwards, was 
also much out of order ; nay, in a state of fever, and, in 
an approaching salivation of the most severe description. 
At the breakfast hour he mentioned to Mr. Shepherd 
that he found it impossible to work ; w T ho replied, that 
he was sorry for that, as he had but one course to pur- 
sue. About eleven the same forenoon, he was sent for 
to the receiving room, where he found the Surgeon, 
Mr. Shepherd, and an officer. Mr. S. informed the Sur- 
geon, that your Petitioner refused to work. This he de- 
nied, stating, that he found it impossible to do so. The 
Surgeon inquired what was the matter with him ? The 
Petitioner told him, that some days before he had men- 
tioned to him the effects that the mill was producing 
upon him. That these effects had now so much increased 
that he found it impossible to work ; that his head at 
the present speaking was actually running around with 
him ; but that the immediate cause was the pain in his 
left knee, which he described. The Surgeon said that he 
was surprised ; — that the mill certainly was a punish- 
ment, but that most of the men seemed to like it very 
well. The Petitioner replied, — that how far that was 
true he knew not, but this he knew, that if they suffered 
as much from it as he did, they neither could nor 



27 

"would work it ! Mr. Shepherd said that he certainly 
seemed to suffer very much, but there was one young 
man then upon it who appeared to suffer as much as 
he did, and who still continued at work. (This young 
man, in three days after, had to be taken from the mill 
from its effects upon him.) Mr. Shepherd then asked 
the Petitioner if he was well ? to which he replied, that 
he had already told him how he felt and suffered upon 
the mill ; but that when off it, he always felt better. 
On saying this, the Petitioner was forthwith ordered to 
be locked up without the Surgeon s examining his person, 
or doing any other thing to ascertain the state of his 
health, or he must have discovered that he was not in a 
fit state to have wrought at any thing, much less the 
extreme labour of the mill. The Petitioner was then 
removed into what is termed the Solitary or Black-hole, 
which is a very small cell, built within another room, 
entirely dark, destitute of furniture, having neither bed- 
stead, form, stool, or even stone seat, so that the person 
confined in it must either walk or sit upon the floor. 
In this place he was confined all that day without food, 
water, or light. Next morning he was supplied with 
one half-pound loaf and a quart of water for the twenty- 
four hours' supply. On the Sunday, being the third 
morning, he was visited by Mr. Shepherd and the Chap- 
lain. The latter immediately, upon his being brought 
out to the light, commenced telling him, that he was 
exhibiting a very improper spirit in refusing to work. 
The Petitioner replied, that he did not refuse to work, 
and that he was punished not because he would not, 
but because he could not. Without any further remark, 
or giving him any time to tell him his story, the Chap- 
plain went on saying, ' You know what you told me 
the other day ; you know you told me that you thought 



your death in your present circumstances would do your 
cause good, and that by your death the cause of suffer- 
ing humanity would be benefited. Now I tell you, it 
is my duty to tell you, that the Surgeon says, he does 
not think the mill does you the hurt that you say it does. 
Now I tell you plainly, that, in the event of your death, 
which, if you persist, must undoubtedly happen, that a 
searching inquiry will take place, and I will swear, and 
I know I will be credited when I say so, that you said 
your death would do your cause good, so that you will 
be disappointed, and so no bad consequences will accrue 
to any person here from your death.' Such were the exact 
words the rev. gentleman made use of to the Petitioner, 
as near as it is possible for one man to quote the lan- 
guage of another from memory, he is prepared to esta- 
blish upon oath. Upon which the Petitioner replied, 
that; the rev. gentleman was giving his language an 
import that he never meant it to convey ; and with dif- 
jiculty got him to hear him say, — that he was not now 
in his present miserable situation for refusing to work, 
but because he could not accomplish an impossibility ; 
and that should his death happen, he trusted that he 
would have the honesty to tell that to the Jury, — He 
then left him. 

" Now, the Petitioner would beg the attention of your 
Honourable House to the speech of the rev. gentle- 
man, of whom he wishes to speak in terms of respect. 
He, indeed, in a conversation with him some few days 
before, made use of the words repeated by him, but 
with a very different meaning to that the rev. gentle- 
man wished to attach to them. In that conversation 
they were speaking of the Petitioner's death as an event 
under present circumstances to be highly possible ; and 
le remarked, that should it happen, it would most likely 



29 

cause such a strict inquiry into prison discipline as would 
be productive of much good; but if the rev. gentle- 
man meant to say to a Jury, that the Petitioner had 
willingly enforced death by starvation for the purpose 
of injuring the Government in the opinion of the country, 
or of doing harm to those in whose power he was, or 
with a view of attaining some probable good for the 
cause with which he was identified, the gentleman 
would say what was substantially false, and would give 
him credit for a degree of patriotism that he, in truth, 
could lay no claim to. * He rests satisfied with having 



* The conduct of this priest, or ambassador for Christ, as he 
terms himself, on this and many other occasions, produced on the 
mind of R. Peddie such an effect, so much disgust and abhorrence, 
that he took advantage of the existence of a law giving him the 
power of declining all private intercourse with the prison chaplain, 
and for upwards of two years and six months, held no conversation 
with him. But he was still compelled to hear him read something 
every Sunday forenoon, which in courtesy may be called a sermon ; 
but it certainly breathed rather an odd sort of religion. In short, 
all the sermons that R. P. heard this person read, fully illustrated 
the assertion of the poet Burns, speaking of certain college-bred per- 
sons in his day : — 

" They gang in stirks, they come out asses, 

Plain truth to speak ; 
And then they think to climb Parnassus [Heaven] 

By dint of Greek." 

If the religion of Christ consists in the following doctrine, couched 
in the Rev. Gentleman's own language, then he is a most exemplary 
Christian man, as it was most duly enforced, Sunday after Sunday, 
with most praiseworthy perseverance : — " My brethren, there are 
persons that will tell you that you may be sensible of the working 
of the Spirit of God upon you? own mind, that your sins are par- 
doned, and that your assurance of happiness is good and sure ; but 
6uch persons are fanatics and enthusiasts. No, my friends, the way 
to heaven is to be honest, to be industrious, to be content with vour 



30 

stated the fact, and leaves your Honourable House and 
the public to draw their own conclusions ; but this ap- 
pears to him pretty evident, that the rev. gentleman 
and others had considered his death as likely to take 
place, and were amongst themselves preparing for it. 

" On Monday the 23d of August, your Petitioner, in 
the morning, felt his throat to be very sore, and much 
swelled ; but not dreaming of an approaching salivation, 



condition, to be subject to all set by God in authority over you, to 
be loyal to your queen, to behave yourself lowly and reverently to 
your betters, to be submissive to your masters and pastors, to believe 
in Christ ; and when you come to die, to send for the priest, take 
the sacrament, and die in peace." In short, if all the state priests 
are like this man, judging from nearly 150 short somethings R. P. 
heard him read on the Sundays, the purport of all of which was, that 
submission to authority constituted the vital part of the religion he 
recommended; then, if the Bible was all burned, except the first 
seven verses of the thirteenth chapter of Romans, it would be no 
loss. 

Another matter of importance which here occurs for the con- 
sideration of the Public, is, that so long as the friends of political 
prisoners, as was the case with R. P. (and a most cruel and heart- 
less treatment it was), are forbidden to see them, no matter how 
long the term of imprisonment may be — or hold personal intercourse 
with them — and so long as the prisoner is prevented from writing 
without reserve what he wishes to communicate to his friends, — 
then so long can the friends of such prisoners entertain no confidence 
that their lives are safe. Does any man suppose, if R. P. had died 
under the barbarous treatment he here met with, that it is likely 
that the facts would come out before a jury ? Fudge ! They are 
indeed poor judges of human nature who would suppose so. Pray, 
who are the persons that would be called upon to give evidence ? 
Why, the very persons of all others most interested in preventing 
the truth from being known, provided any thing unlegal had taken 
place. The priest was the only party not concerned, and the reader 
has a sample of the evidence, in the text, he said he would give, had 
death taken place. 



31 

he applied, in the hope of reducing the swelling, about 
the bulk of two pin heads of the mercury he had still 
left. He was again put into the mill-shed and ordered 
to begin work ; but being so ill, that it was with diffi- 
culty he could walk, and could not for any time keep 
up his head without the support of his hands, he felt 
himself justified in refusing to go upon the wheel. He 
was then carried to the office of Mr. Shepherd, who 
inquired why he refused to work ? Your Petitioner 
replied that he was then unable to do so. He was 
then, as before, locked up in the Black Hole; but in 
such a state of bodily distress, that continued to increase, 
to such an extent, that he was compelled as formerly to 
stretch himself upon the floor of his dungeon, and make 
use of his clog for his pillow. He may here mention, 
that all the time he was so confined, his stomach refused 
to receive his only food, the bread and water. On the 
evening of that day your Petitioner was again visited by 
Mr. Shepherd and the Surgeon, who seeing his face 
much swollen, asked him if it was the toothache. He 
stated that he thought it was something more serious. 
The Surgeon then examined his person, saying, that he 
was slightly salivated, and that he would send him a 
gargle, — which he did. He was again locked up till 
the next afternoon, when he was again visited by Mr. 
Shepherd, who after inquiring how he was, and par- 
tially examining him, remarked, — that the Petitioner 
was not in a fit state to work, as he thought, and ex- 
pressed his sorrow at his being there, saying, — that 
had they thought he was so ill as he now in reality 
was, that he would not have been there at all ; but that 
they had acted under an' impression that he was saying 
that he was worse than he was, which he believed not 
to be the case. The Petitioner hereupon stated, that if 



32 

they thought that he was acting from laziness, they 
were wrong, and cautioned them from spreading abroad 
such a report, for it would not be believed, as he was 
well known in Scotland for persevering industry. He 
replied that they did not now think that was his motive ; 
but did not say what they supposed it to be. He then 
left the Petitioner, expressing both kindness and sorrow 
for his then situation. 

" Next morning the Petitioner was again visited by 
Mr. Shepherd and the Surgeon, who, after examining 
into the state of his health, observed, that where he was 
was not a proper place for him to be in, and ordered his 
removal ; but remarked, that he did not think that he 
would take any harm, as the place was free from damp. 
The Petitioner said, — that might be as it may; but he 
thought a dark dungeon and cold water not very proper 
treatment for a person in his state of body. He then 
ordered his immediate removal, and promised to send a 
supply of proper medicines, which he did. Mr. Shep- 
herd then informed the Petitioner, that so soon as the 
Surgeon reported him fit for work, should he again, un- 
der similar circumstances, refuse, that he would be taken 
before the Magistrate, who would order him either 
thirty days confinement, where he then was, or other- 
wise to be well whipt I Upon this threatened infliction 
of the lash to a political prisoner — a state prisoner — for 
the first time in the history of this, or he believes of 
any other country assuming to be civilized, he will not 
trust himself to make a single reflection; but merely 
state the fact, which cannot be denied ; and it shews 
beyond the possibility of doubt the extremity of the 
treatment to which he is subjected, and of which lie 
now complains ; and against a continuance of which he, 
with full confidence, throws himself upon the generosity 



33 

of your Honourable House. Your Petitioner here put 
an end to any further conversation, by informing them 
that he was too unwell to support a longer interview, 
and requested that it might be finished. The Petitioner 
was then taken to a mess room ; but finding himself un- 
able to remain up, he requested permission, and obtained 
it, of going to bed. He remained very ill indeed for 
more than twenty days, being supported entirely upon 
water-gruel and milk. About the twenty-eighth day, 
he, for the first time, was enabled to swallow a little 
soft bread, mixed with the gruel. From that time he 
began to recover till the beginning of the fifth week, 
when he was seized with a most violent pain in the head 
and right cheek, attended with a locking of the jaw ; 
so that for eight days he again could swallow no solid 
food. This closing of the jaw was ultimately removed 
by leeching. From that time, with the exception of 
the pain in his knee, which still continued, and which 
blistering has not removed, and which turns out to be 
a confirmed rheumatism, he was getting fast better in 
his general health. He was employed for four weeks 
in what is called light labour, that is to say, breaking 
stones, teazing oakum, &c, up till Saturday the 25th 
of November, when he was again put upon the mill. 
It is but just to say, that he asked as a favour the be- 
ing put to two-thirds labour instead of full time, which 
was granted. 

" It is impossible for your Petitioner to desciibe to your 
Honourable House what his sufferings were at this mo- 
ment, from the continued bad effects of the mill on his 
system. At night the state to which he was reduced 
would melt the heart of a savage. You may form some 
idea from the fact, that, at this cold and inclement sea- 
son of the year, when employed in this labour, his body 

c2 



34 

from morning to night is literally covered with, and 
very frequently pouring out, the perspiration as rain. 
For three weeks he had not gone to bed with a dry shirt 
(except the night he puts on a clean one), and very fre- 
quently his shirt is, in reality, as wet as if fresh from 
the washing tub, although he works without jacket, 
with his neck and breast bare. In this state he is locked 
up without fire or light in a cold cell, where he lies in 
bed for hours trembling before he can fall asleep, and 
when he awakes, he finds his limbs stiffened, and his 
breast and head in a state past his power to describe. 

" Your Petitioner makes no remark upon the humanity 
of compelling a man by the dread of corporeal punish- 
ment to keep constantly, for nine hours a day, ascend 
ing a flight of steps, who for nine months had not even 
walked upon the level ground with either ease or com- 
fort. His suffering from his knee was considerable. 
His general health immecliatelv retrograded. His head 
became, as before, dizzy ; his sight dim ; so much so, 
that when he began to write out this Petition, he could 
scarcely see what he was about. His appetite and sleep 
again in a great measure left him. It may here be 
asked, if he applied to the Surgeon ? He did not. His 
reason for so doing was simply this, that a few days 
before he was compelled by his suffering to leave off work 
in his former illness, he had complained of his head and 

vomiting to the Surgeon, who seemed to treat these corn- 
er © ' 

plaints but lightly. In the present instance he had re- 
solved to persevere so long as human endurance could 
do so, until his complaint could neither be misunderstood 
er trifled with. He has, at the date of anting this 
Petition, been nine days off the mill, and the consequence 
is increased appetite, return of sleep, and, with the ex- 
ception of the pain in his breast, a general improvement 



35 

of health ; which, with all deference to your Honourable 
House, he holds to be an unanswerable proof that the 
labour of the mill is not only destructive to his health, 
but is rapidly undermining his constitution, and must, 
if persisted in, bring him to a premature grave. 

" Your Petitioner will not trouble your Honourable 
House with any of the minor miseries of this House of 
Correction, thinking that he has said enough to make 
out a strong case for inquiry, which, if adopted, he feels 
confident, will end in making it manifest that political 
prisoners are, for the first time, and under a merciful and 
reforming ministry, reduced to a state and condition that 
has inflicted upon them a degree of physical suffering, to 
which all the horrors of Negro slavery, as described to 
us by the warmest advocates for its abolition, falls much 
short ; and he also trusts that that inquiry will afford 
a proof that the generous sympathies of the British public 
are not yet entirely exhausted, and that the Ministers 
of the Crown are not desirous to inflict a punishment 
which humanity cannot bear, and to administer the 
rigours of the law at the expense of the life of the Pe- 
titioner. 

Robert Peddie.'* 
" Beverley House of Correction* 
21st Nov. 1840/' 

My space will not permit me to enter more fully into 
the inhuman and barbarous treatment inflicted upon this 
political prisoner ; but I rest satisfied with the simple re- 
mark, that it is Mr. P.'s firm conviction, that, if it had 
not been for the very great excitement caused out of doors 
by the imperfect statements of his suffering that he suc- 
ceeded in smuggling out of prison, and the interest that 
many private individuals (among whom Joseph Hume, 



36 

Esq., M. P., and Villiers Sankey, Esq., of London, de- 
serve his warmest gratitude), he never would have left 
the prison a living man ! 

Of the conduct of the "Whigs towards him, there is a 
very general opinion in Scotland existing, that the de- 
termined opposition Mr. Peddie has ever given them in 
Edinburgh, as a party, and the many disclosures of their 
want of good faith and political honesty he has made, 
can only account for the cruel vindictiveness exhibited 
towards him. But without reference to political parties, 
the mere fact that a political prisoner, or indeed any pri- 
soner, was permitted to be so treated, is truly disgraceful; 
the more especially among a people who pretend to such 
a superabundance of humanity, that they actually pass 
legislative enactments to prevent even the very appear- 
ance of cruelty to animals ! 

After sixteen months of such treatment as that de- 
scribed in the foregoing petition, an alteration in hig 
sentence was wrung from the cruel Whigs ; after which 
he was saved from hard labour, and his life saved ; but 
still subjected to all the abominable horrors of the silent 
system, — still prevented from receiving the visits of any 
friends, not even his wife or child. Many scores of re- 
spectable persons, who wished to see and console him, 
were indignantly turned from his prison-door. A large 
volume would not contain a full account of all the minor 
miseries of his three years residence in Beverley. But 
he is at last restored to his friends, and the friends of 
freedom, the same stern and fearless lover of liberty he 
ever was, — and more than ever determined to use his 
best efforts to rescue suffering humanity from the tyranny 
of the aristocracy of both birth and capital. 

THE EDITOR. 



THE DUNGEON HARP. 



THE WEAVER'S ADDRESS TO HIS FELLOWS. 



[As to what gave rise to the following very eccentric piece, Mr. P. 
thus writes from Beverley : — " Having read in Chambers' Journal a 
recommendation to the Bards of Britain to write what friend Cham- 
bers calls labour songs for the benefit of the working-classes, — which 
at once would instruct their minds, cheer their spirits at their labour, 
and inculcate due submission to authority ; and this recommenda- 
tion being accompanied with a sample of the things wanted, the 
burthen of which was — that the labourer was more happy than a 
king, and in reality much less to be pitied,— J am of opinion that 
such would be a vile prostitution of the muse. The " powers that 
be" have already but too many auxiliaries to force the working- 
classes to obedience, — a standing army — a numerous, and, in many 
cases, an armed constabulary, — and, last but not least, a spiritual 
police, in the shape of an expensive state priesthood. These are 
quantum suff., without enlisting the muse in their service. I deter- 
mined, in something like verse, to paint the real condition of one 
class of labourers ; how I have succeeded, you can now judge for 
yourself."] 

Weave brothers weave, still want and woe 
Are all that to us from our labour flow : 

Yet brothers weave, and a trophy of art with your 
shuttles rear, 

That will outrival the glories of famed Cashmere : 



38 

Bid in your beauteous fabric live each flower our gardens 

yield, [and field, 

That blossoms on the mountain top, by streamlet, glen, 
The lily white, the snow-drop pure, the violet's ruddy 

bloom, 
Call into life the queen of flowers, in all but her perfume. 
And in its morning splendour drest, the glorious summer 

sky, [Various die; 

Night twinkling stars, the silver moon, the rainbow's 
And bid the British landscape glow within these webs 

of yours, [shores, 

Haply the sight may glad some eye on many distant 
Amidst the hospitable wilds of Columbia's distant west 
Some victim of oppression may have found a place of 

rest ; 
May see, within your warp and woof, his childhood's 

loved abode, 
The humble kirk upon the green, where first he wor- 

shipp'd God ; 
His native hills, his native streams, and that still che- 

rish'd grove, 
Where first, in Scotia's northern clime, he felt and spake 

his love. 
And haply, too, some maiden fair may see that still 

loved spot 
"Where, in days long gone, a lover true woo'd her to 

share his lot ; 
And feeling yet her bosom heave wi* thoughts she'll 

never tyne, 
May warble on Ohio's banks auld Scotia's langsyne. 
Perhaps the patriot Frost may feel his breast with plea- 
sure swell, 
To see, within those webs of your?, the land he loved 

so well ; 



39 

To see that dearest spot of earth, his Cambrian moun- 
tain home, 

Though all the joys he once knew there, alas ! are past 
and gone : 

Yea, should this picture, fancy drawn, but happily 
prove true, 

Perhaps he may regret the less what he now bears for 
you. 

And could the labour of our looms to him one joy im- 
part, 

'T would lessen our own misery to know we cheer'd his 
heart. 
Weave brothers weave, though want and wo 
Are all that to us from our labour flow. 

Compared with our unhappy lot, how bless'd is Nature's 

child, 
Though he may be a savage call'd, within his native 

wild. 
Free as the very air he breathes, — unfetter'd, he may 

roam, 
And make each hill and spreading plain, and bosky 

glen, his own ; 
See, from each rocky summit of his wild mountain 

abode, 
With delight, with wonder and amaze, the works of 

Nature's God. 
'Tis true, perhaps, he cannot tell from whence these 

feelings flow, 
Nor analyse, with critics' skill, his bosom's raptured 

glow. 
Yet he knows, what is enough to know, there is a God 

above 
That wakes to joy the human soul to ecstasy and love. 



40 

Sees, amidst the scowling storm, the sheeted lightning 

glare,— 
Reads, in the thunder's solemn peal, a proof that God 

is there. 
! would that we could see with him the morning's 

opening heam 
Chasing the gloom from each green plain, from moun- 
tain-side and stream, 
Greet Nature's various beauties there, with our admiring 

gaze, 
See each tiny dew-drop's sheen rival the diamond 

blaze, 
And hear the murmuring of the rill, the roaring of the 

floods, 
The gentle sighing of the breeze, the music of the woods, 
The lark high soaring in the air, the cushat's amorous 

sang, 
Each warbler sweet of Nature's choir, its native woods 

amang : 
Weave brothers weave, for these are jojrs that we will 

never know ; 
For fifteen hours a day of toil, we have but want and wo; 
'Tis true, they tell us, we have joys the savage ne'er can 

have, 
All that pure light religion yields, that science ever gave; 
Yet the sum and substance of it is — that here we must 

be slaves ; 
The advantage science brings to us is but an early grave. 
'Tis mockery, sure, to speak of joy, amidst the want and 

pain 
That we endure who weave for bread, and often toil in 

vain : 
Weave brothers weave, still want and wo 
Are all that to us from our labour flow. 



41 

Compared with our lot, how mild was the doom 
Of the Trojan captive at the Grecian loom ! 
Though compell'd, in her fabric, the story to tell, 
Of the wrong, and the wo that her loved land befel, 
And sore the captive's heart might grieve, 
The triumph of her country's foe to weave : 
Yet, amidst all her anguish, it was soothing to know 
Her sorrows were inflicted by a foreign foe, 
While all the sorrow — all the mis'ry we feel — 
Is wrought by those that along with us do kneel 
At the altar of God, on that day set apart 
For the worship of him who sees every heart ; 
Whose dying precept was, ye shall love one another, 
Yet the hand that afflicts us is the hand of a brother : 
Weave brothers weave, still want and wo 
Are all that to us from our labour flow. 

Compared with our doom, how happy is the state 
Of even the slave in his much-pitied fate, 
Who enjoys of life's comforts far more than we, 
And is in every thing else, save the name, more free ; 
Whose sorrows, whose sufferings, whose anguish and 

pain, 
Are assuaged by the sympathies of millions of men ; 
While fifteen hours a day, in this damp unwholesome 

room, 
We are chain'd to the shuttle, we are fetter'd to the loom, 
By irons more galling — more enduring and strong 
Than any that e'er bound the slave to his much- pitied 

wrong ; 
And yet they bid us sing the song that Britons " ne'er 

were slaves," 
A circumstance as far from truth as that she " rules the 

waves :" 



42 

O yes ! they tell us we are free, that freedom is our boast, 
That e'en our air no slave can breathe, or tread our 

rugged coast, 
That soon as e'er his feet can reach this free and happy 

land, 
Its magic influence speedily asunder bursts his band. 
As fiercest flame does flaxen thread, as snaws will melt 

away, 
And ev'ry fetter winter forged in summer's warmer day ; 
This may sound very beautiful in some courtly poet's 

theme, 
But try it by the test of truth, 'tis but a poet's dream. 
To speak to us of Freedom's friends is insult mean and 

base, — 
The woes we feel, the wrongs endure, would slavery's 

self disgrace. [us pain, 

'Tis true we know we should be free, this light but gives 
That makes us but more keenly feel our tyrants' galling 

chain. 
It renders but more visible the darkness and the gloom, 
The sufferings seen, the misery clear, of our unhappy 

doom. 
Thus, in his cruel bondage held, the suffering patriot lies, 
Feels his unheard of woe increase, — more bitter still his 

sighs, 
By thinking on the joys he knew in his once happy halls, 
And all the joys that others know outside his prison 

walls. 
We know that laws cruel and unjust, by force we must 

obey, 
That every right free men enjoy, from us are torn away. 
We know that o'er yon narrow sea, millions would us 

employ, [we die. 

And in return would give us bread, for want of which 



43 

There are no barriers on the waves, no toll-gate on the 

sea, 
And Nature's God himself declares, his waters shall be 

free ; 
Yet our tyrant fellow-men have with a parchment chain, 
For their own selfish purposes, put padlocks on the main. 
I know that every coin I spend, to buy the staff of 

life, 
One half of it they meanly steal from my starving bairns 

and wife. 
We know, that knowing what we know increases but 

our pain ; 
Tis madness, sure, to know we still must toil for others' 

gain. ^ 
Where are Dissent's loud thunderers now, that on these 

hustings stood, 
And swore the negro should be free, though India swam 

in blood. 
They, adder-like, have shut their ears to their white 

brother's moan, 
Though for their sable favourites they menaced e'en the 

throne. 
But now those very Christian friends seem to think it 

a sin 
To waste a single thought on those that suffer in white 

skin; 
To search a gnat of misery out they'll roam from Green- 
land shores 
To where around its thousand isles the wide Pacific 

roars, — 
While before their eye the camel stands, woe's most 

appalling form, 
Millions who toil in vain for bread, who grieve they 

e'er were born. 



44 

Yes, brothers, yes ! your skin must be as black as their 

own heart 
Ere they'll feel for or act, to you, a Christian brother s 

part. 
Does patriot bands their flag unfurl on any foreign 

strand, 
And seem to blaze, in victory, a moment o'er that land, 
Oh ! then, they loudly call on us to raise the glad 

huzza ; 
But should the tyrants triumph still, they in their 

chapels pray 
That he who smote, in ancient times, the foes of man 

and God, 
Would yet, in mercy to mankind, let tyrants feel his 

rod. 
Does Freedom's refugees come here, as oftentmie they 

do, 
They ever meet with sympathies, denied, my friends, to 

you; 
With Christian hospitality, Dissent throws wide her 

doors, 
And is the first to welcome them to Britain's friendly 

shores ; 
Yet let a British patriot speak the woes he sees or 

bears, 
They set their blood-hounds on his track till he a dun- 
geon shares ; — 
Till an English prison, worse than death, his living 

grave become, 
Where he would glad exchange, for death, his vile 

accursed doom. 
What insult, thus to call on us to raise the loud acclaim 
To Freedom's triumph everywhere, and yet live slaves 

at hame. 



45 

'Tis not that we are grieved to learn, nay, we rejoice 
to see [Tree, 

Our colour'd brethren of the west from their taskmasters 

Twas our voices gave those friends their power — their 
object great to gain; 

Nay, 'twas our hard-won money, too, that burst the 
negro's chain. 

Oli ! then, 'twas Christianity, most un defiled and pure, 

To listen to the negro's cry, to crush his tyrants' power ; 

But now 'tis worse than blasphemy a single word to 
lend [^befriend. 

To assuage a suffering Briton's grief — a white slave to 

Yet still we would rejoice to see, throughout this 
suffering world, 

All tyrants and all tyrants' power to hopeless ruin hurl'd ; 

To sea Freedom's star — her meteor flag — now floating- 
high in air, 

Unfetter' d as the air of heaven, in triumph everywhere. 

Yet who e'er has heard, or e'er has seen, slaves die for 
want of food, — 

Their owners know too well for that, what makes for 
their own good ; 

They have an interest in their lives, their strength and 
vigour too, — 

An interest, my friends, alas ! there is none feels for you. 

Here, in this land of Gospel light, a thing of course 'tis 
deem'd, 

By hunger thousands annually be to the grave con- 
si gn'd. 

Our owmers do but us employ as other mere machines, 

As horse or any other powder, or water, wind, or steam ; 

When it suits not their purposes our services to claim, 

We and our helpless bairns may starve, but they share 
not the blame. 



46 

'Tis scarcely yet six months ago since labour fail'd me 

here, — 
I cannot paint, nor language tell, the blackness of 

despair 
That seized my helpless family then, nor all the want 

and wo 
Which well they knew they must endure from that 

much-dreaded blow : 
Distress which ne'er a black slave yet was call'd on to 

endure, 
Or preacher speak, or poet sing, — nay, 'tis beyond their 

power. 
No noisy philanthropist then e'er came w T ithin my door, 
The only sympathy I met was from the wretched 

poor : 
Nay, I am wrong, one morn, 'tis true, when crush'd for 

want of bread, 
A mildly speaking man came in and left a tract to 

read. 
I cursed, in bitterness of heart, the day I e'er was born, 
To be made thus another proof that " man was made to 

mourn." 
My wife — my meek and suffering wife — still tried to 

comfort me, 
Though when she saw her starving bairns the tear stood 

in her e'e ; 
But which from me she fain would hide, and still of 

comfort spoke, 
While, with a mother's feelings strong, her own heart 

nearly broke. 
" It is the will of God," she said, " that man should 

sorrows bear, 
For wise and gracious purposes, and we have but our 

share ; 



47 

' Though sorrow springs not from the dust, nor trouble 

from the ground, 
Yet ills on ills, by Heaven's decree, in man's estate are 

found.' " 
O ! no, my wife, the ills we feel were ne'er by God design'd, 
He is the Father of our race, the Friend of all our 

kind : 
Look on yon splendid arch of heaven, yon glorious orb 

of day, 
The chasten d beauties of the stars, the pale moon's sil- 
ver ray ; 
Then look upon this smiling world — on yonder fertile 

plain, 
Say, was such meant the dwelling-place of misery and 

pain ? 
Ah ! no, the cruel wrongs we share own a wide different 

cause — 
Man's inhumanity to man, man's vile dishonest laws, 
By which he has to want and wo his fellow-creatures 

driven, 
And turn'd to bitterness and gall the choicest gifts of 

Heaven. 
Day after day, week after week, in misery we spent, 
While beds and blankets, clothing too, were to the bro- 
ker's sent : 
At last our Family Bible went, which long I'd kept with 

care, 
That my poor children might have bread, whose names 

were written there ; 
It was my father's dying gift, a gift by me so prized, 
That, had I the only sufferer been, I rather would have 

died. 
"When all we had to sell, alas ! for bread was sold and gone, 
In more than broken-heartedness I wander'd forth alone, 



48 

And, in a useless search for work, I traversed many a mile, 
Begging each brother of the earth to give me leave to toil. 
Yet, when the useless task was o'er, I sought my home 

again, 
Though well I knew I there would meet but misery and 

pain; 
And, in good truth, I there did meet more than I thought 

to find, 
That near to moody madness turn'd my sad distracted 

mind : 
Disease, as well as want and wo, had made a lodgement 

there, 
My hunger-stricken wife was in the madness of despair; 
My own, my dear loved Janetie, the apple of mine eye, 
In pale consumption's latest stage — but yet I heaved no 

sigh. 
Though dear to me as my own soul, for her I felt no grief, 
I knew her absence from this world would be a bless'd 

relief. 
And soon the sufferer's struggle ceased, she died for want 

of bread, 
And on her grave I knelt in thanks ! to God, that she 

was dead. 
Nay, on the turf that wraps her clay, a hymn to God 

I'd raise, 
Were all my wretched family there, of thankfulness 

and praise. 
Yes, my sad heart would thankful be, were they upon 

that shore 
Where human tyranny will cease, and man oppress no 

more. 
"Wea^e brothers weave, still want and woe 
Are all that to us from our labour flow. 



THE POOR MAN'S PRAYER. 



[The Author, when he composed the following trifle, which he 
did without the aid of pen, ink, or pencil, retaining it, as usual with 
his other pieces, upon his memory, till the day when he was per- 
mitted to write his monthly letter to his afflicted family, — little 
thought that it would be considered so very important by the worthy 
magistrates of Beverley. The letter containing it, instead of being 
forwarded to Mrs. P., was detained until a meeting of the Visiting 
Justices took place ; and not one meeting, but three, were actually 
held, to consider whether this trifle could be permitted to leave the 
walls of the prison without endangering the safety of the State. — 
After these deliberations, the Author was informed by the Jailor, 
that it was decided that it should not be allowed to pass. When 
he, surprised at any body of men assuming to be rational creatures, 
attaching, for one moment, any importance to such a trifle, de- 
manded the reason, was told, that, if it was published, it would be 
sung by the working people, and that would be dangerous ! Verily, 
" The wicked run when no man pursueth." 



All around is calm and cheerful, 
Not a leaf moves on the breeze, 

Yon radiant sun sheds mirth and gladness, 
The birds sing joyful 'mang the trees. 

Yon peaceful grove is calmly vocal, 

With gentle streamlets murm'ring sigh ; 

But, ah ! yon dark'ning cloud approaching, 
Seems to speak a tempest nigh. 



50 

Alas ! this calm is but deceitful, 

See, across the placid sky 
The gath 'ring clouds spread gloom and darkness, 

And the scowling tempests fly. 

Hark ! now the raging wild tornado 
Bares the fields, the forests groan ; 

Nature's self, in wild commotion, 
Seems but the spirit of the storm. 

As with Nature, so with mankind, 

Both may smile before a storm, 
And tyrants dream of strength and safety, 

Ere the moral iEtna burn. 

Convulsive hearings of the millions 

Give the tyrants cause to fear : 
Deep-rooted discontent's low murmurs, 

E'en now portend a tempest near. 

In pity to yourself, ye tyrants, 

Listen to the poor man's prayer, 
Ere his dreadful cry for vengeance 

Strike on your affrighted ear. 

Ere Disaffection's smould'ring embers, 
Fann'd by sense of wrong long borne, 

Redress refused, hope disappointed, 
Burst into a fearful storm. 

See yon bereaved mother mourning 

O'er her children's cry for bread, 
Who invokes High Heav'n for vengeance 

On her ruthless tyrants' head. 



51 

And sorrow's pray'r will reach to Heav'n, 
Yon widow's wail will pierce the sky ; 

That Heav'n, in pity, gives you warning, — 
The hour of retribution's nigh. 

When civil discord's fearful demon 
Shall seize you, helpless, for his prey, 

Repent ye, while repentance will avail ye, — 
Pause ere you're past repentance day. 

The poor man's griefs and woes ye laugh'd at, 
Mock'd in scorn each suff'rer's groan, — 

Pause, ere Heav'n in thunders tell ye, 
The hour of retribution's come. 

Ere across each patriot bosom's 
Thrown in anger Scotland's plaid ; 

Ere the bonnet-plume is waving 
O'er the brave Celt's manly head. 

Ere each stalwart peasant grasping 

His claymore, to cure his ills ; 
Ere the flag of Freedom's floating 

'Mang the breeze, on Scotland's hills. 

Fain would I sing a note of warning, 
Ere from sounding shore to shore, 

Ere from ev'ry British mountain's 
Heard the war-pipe's dreaded roar. 

Ere through this still lov'd land's sweeping, 
The monster War's red wasting flood ; 

Ere the millions wipe their woes out 
In the guilty tyrants' blood. 



52 

Ere the people, roused for vengeance, 

Madden'd by oppression's sting, 
Spread around them fell destruction, 

On tyrants' heads fierce ruin bring. 

Your pigmy power despised and laugh'd at, 
Your altars spurn'd, your throne o'erthrown • 

When million voices rend yon welkin 

"With cries, ' The hour of retribution's come !' 



THE COVENANTER'S SONG. 

There's a buckling of claymores to belts, in fierce anger, 
And brave men are mounting on hill-side and shore ; 

' Be quiet, oh ! be quiet,' sighs the wife now nae langer, 
And the preacher of peace now speaks peace no more. 

He even regrets that his peaceful profession 

Prevents him from handling his father's good sword ; 

But still at the head of his flock he is marching, 
His weapon his Bible, — the Word of his God. 

There's a frown on the brow of our wandering piper, 
On whose sightless eye-balls has set endless night, 

That he downa now gae where Freedom's sons gather, 
And wield his broad-sword 'gainst our tyrants in fight. 

There's a frown on the brow of our aged grandfather, 
That in his stiffen d limbs eild's ills are now rife ; 

That he canna now follow where leads Freedom's banner, 
To buy freedom for us with his remnant o' life. 



53 

There's a frown, 'yond his years, on the brow of the urchin, 
"Who still says he'll fight, as he draws his wee knife ; 

There's a frown on the brow of the unform'd stripling, 
That his feeble limbs will keep him from the strife. 

But there sits no frown on manhood's stern forehead, 
Though fierce is the glance of his bright beaming eye ; 

All fear and all doubt from his bosom is far fled, 
And fix'd the resolve there — to conquer or die. 

And there sits no frown on the brow of the matron, 
While furbishing arms for her husband to wear ; 

And buckling the swords on the belts of her children ; 
She dims not their lustre with one single tear. 

And there sits no frown on the brow of the maiden, 
Tho' blanch'd are her lips, her cheeks lost their bloom ; 

All her sad fears in her bosom are hidden, 

While her fingers are busied with bonnet and plume, 

To wave in the dread hour of battle, a token 
Of love o'er the head o' the lad she lo'ed weel, 

And her breast heaves nae sigh while braiding the ribbon 
On the hilt of that loved one's death-dealing steel. 

For the deeds of our tyrants have flash'd sad conviction, 
To the hearts of the elder, the maiden, an' wife, 

That all necks now must bend to the slave's vile condition, 
Or we buy their freedom w T ith those tyrants' life. 

Now no tears dim the eyes of our brave hearted women, 
No weeping, no wailing, no heart-rending sigh ; 

For far in the sojd they have cast the proud Roman's 
Much boasted virtue, — now danger is nigh. 



54 

Yestreen, at the gloaming, I heard one addressing 
The lad o' her love, but it wasna to yield ; 

All fear and all self she was nobly suppressing, 
And urging that loved-one to haste to the field. 

She said, c E'er yon Alpine pass Freedom's flag floats on, 
And frae the defenders, ye canna now stay ; 

Tho' dear to my soul, tho' my heart's on thee doatin', 
To join Freedom's gallant bands haste thee away. 

But hear me now tell ye, ere from me thou'rt riven, 

Round no other alive shall these arms entwine ; 
Believe, while I swear, by the best gift of Heaven, 
That in life or in death, love, I only am thine. 

* Should ye fa', in the dread hour of battle, a victim, 
Still, still I'll rejoice that ye died na a slave; 

But should Heav'n propitious there mak' ye the victor, 
Then back to my arms I'll welcome the brave.' 



THE AMERICAN'S ADDRESS TO SCOTLAND. 

Can this be the land of the heather and mountain, 
Can this be the land o' the good and the brave, 

And are these the far-famed pure crystal fountains, 
Whose waters, they sing, were ne'er drank by a slave ? 

Can this be the birth-place of Ossian and Byron, 
Can these be the peasants a Ramsay has sung, 

Or are these the hills that a Burns oft has roam'd on, 
"While with strains more than mortal his Doric reed rung? I 



55 

Or these Loudon's woods and braes, yon the dark Carron, 
Or this the Gleniffer of the weavers' sweet strain, 

Can yon be the Gala, or that the fair Cowden, 

Whose yellow broom's warbled on far distant plains? 

Whose heart melting music, 'mid Columbia's brown forests, 
As sung by my mother in life's early dawn, 

Enraptured I've heard, while the wild deer and cushat 
Sat astonish'd and mute their wild woods amang ? 

Whose lays I have heard on the banks of Missoura, 
With the murmuring voice of that dark rolling stream, 

Or in gladness I've list to on our wide spreading prairies 
Ascending to heaven with the scared eagle's scream. 

Can this be the land on whom fond hearts are doating, 
While singing her legends 'midst the pine forests' moan, 

With dreams of her glory before them still floating, — 
The land that the exile-heart clings to as home ? 

From my home in Columbia a pilgrim I come, 
I see the sweet glens where my grandsires abode, 

Which my mother oft sung of, but ah ! how in vain, 
As the dwellings of freedom where a slave never trod. 

Yet I've roam'd from the sly van Tweed north to the Spey 
And travers'd each hill where her Fingal has fought, 

I've search'd every glen of the sweet winding Tay, 
But in vain for the freedom she sung of I've sought. 

True, these are the hills and the glens of her Minstrels, 
So famed by the bards and the battles of yore ; 

But sick grows my heart, my bosom with grief fills 
To know they are the dwellings of freedom no more. 



56 

True, there sits the queen of the north, old Dun Edin, 
Still smiling, the mistress of Fortha's fair shore ; 

But of tyranny's minions she is but the den, 

Her walls are the bulwarks of freedom no more. 

True, yonder the stone whence the standard of liberty * 
Rose proudly to Heav'n, whilst the pibroch's loud 
roar 
Scream'd defiance to Edward, 'midst wars wildest 
revelry, 
But there float the banners of Freedom no more. 

True, these are the fields where the Bruce fought for 
freedom, 
But can these crouching slaves be the sons of those men 
Who from England's curs'd tyrant, to defend still that 
lov d home, 
Flocked to the Bruce from each mountain and glen. 

True, yonder's the Bannock, whose fame will be sung, 
While in this wide world one freeman remains, 

But her honour's departed, her glory is gone, 

There breathes not one freeman on all her green 
plains. 

Ah how is the muse o'er poor Caledon weeping, 
Her favourite haunts fill'd with outrage and wrong, 

For honour, truth, justice, in vain she is seeking, 
For freedom, alas, it scarce now lives in song. 

Ah how sunk is the sun of thy glory, poor Scotland, 
The day-star of liberty shines not for thee ; 

The dark blighting mill-dew of bondage is on thee, 
Ah how art thou fallen, once the home of the free ! 



57 

Yet 'tis strange that mankind, tho' with misery meaning, 
And the heart-rusting canker of want o'er them cast, 

While oppression's keen fang's their inmost soul tearing, 
How fondly they'll cling to and sing of the past. 

Thus I've heard a poor Greek slave, in accents divine, 
Sing the songs of his country ere her spirit was broke, 

But scarce had he finish'd the soul-firing line, 

When he bent his strong neck to the Ottoman's yoke. 

And Bruce's Address, too, I've heard sung by Scotchmen, 
Which to battle for freedom might rouse millions to war, 

Tho' their country in chains and its patriots in dungeons, 
And themselves the poor serfs dragging tyranny's car. 

Nay, in praise of their tyrants the skies they were rending, 
Though she values her dogs far more highly than they, 

Yet their necks to the yoke they are servilely bending, 
And wasting life's vigour on sixpence a day. 

Arouse, men of Scotland, from slumber arouse ye ! 

Or cease thus to carol the songs of the free ; 
The spirit of Burns, or his heart-stirring numbers, 

Were ne'er by him meant for such cravens as thee. 

Arouse, men of Scotland, from thraldom arouse ye! 

Why hug ye your fetters, why kiss ye your chains ? 
Though strong be the bands that are woven around thee, 

One strong manly effort will burst them in twain. 

Spurn, spurn the vile arts of your plundering priesthood, 
Those foes to all freedom, to God, and mankind, 

Who with demons' dire malice and hell's blackest falsehood, 
In chains of gross darkness would trammel the mind. 

d2 



58 

What though, 'midst of plenty, for want millions pine, 
What is it to them though for want millions die ? 

Their right to your plunder they tell is divine, 

And the laws that they rob by are sanction'd on high. 

Arouse, men of Scotland, from slavery arouse ye ! 

All the power of your tyrants to bind thee were vain, 
Without thy supineness ; cast thy tyrants' band from thee ; 

But will to be freemen, ye're freemen again. 

Farewell to thee, Scotland ! for ever adieu ! 

Thou land of my life's early dreams, 
May the heather so red and mountain so blue, 

Yet bask in pure liberty's beams ! 

May the spirit-stirring harp of the free, 

That erst sounded loud on thy shore, 
Be yet heard by thy youths and thy maidens with glee, 

And awake thy wild echoes once more 1 



59 



A VOICE FROM BEVERLEY, 

No. I. 



[This song was printed in the " Glasgow Chartist Circular," 
26th Sept. 1 840. It was sung by Mr. M'Millan at a Grand Soiree, 
given at Glasgow on the liberation of John Collins and Dr. M'Douall, 
Friday, 1 8th Sept. It was also sung by a gentleman at Manchester, 
9th Nov., at a tea-party and festival held to celebrate the birth-day 
of that champion of the people, the late Henry Hunt, Esq. See 
N. Star for Nov. 14, 1840.] 



Hark ! the doleful prison bell 
Resounding through my dreary cell, 
That wakes me up to tortures fell, 
to Far frae love and thee, lassie. 

But there's a spark, not tyrants' power 
Can quench in my most doleful hour ; 
For, spite of dungeon, bolt, and tower, 
My soul's at hame wi' thee, lassie. 

Soon as I close my waukrif e'e, 
On fancy's wings I'm borne to thee, 
"Where I would fain for ever be, 

At hame wi' love and thee, lassie. 

Again the virtuous wife I find, — 
The tried, the true, the ever kind, — 
The workings of whose constant mind 
Is fill'd with love to me, lassie. 



60 

Again that pensive face I see, — - 
That lofty brow, and speaking e'e, 
That's beaming still wi' love to me, 
'Midst a' that I maun dree, lassie- 

But oh ! the day-spring's earliest beams., 
Dissolve in air those happy dreams ; 
And now to me existence seems 

A blank, when wanting thee, lassie. 

But memory here exerts her powers, 
Conjuring up those happy hours, 
I blythely spent in Scotia's bowers, 
A' wi' love and thee, lassie. 

And fresh and lovely bring to min 
That scene upon the banks of Tyne, 
Where first ye whisper'd " I'll be thine, 
I'll live wi' love and thee, laddie !" 

Our happiest hour of earliest life, 
I clasp'd you to my breast — a wife, 
And fondly thought that far from strife, 
I'd live wi' love and thee, lassie. 

But glorious hope yet gilds the gloom, 
That canopies my living tomb, 
And kindly tells the day will come, 

That I'll meet love and thee, lassie. 

Or points to scenes beyond the grave, 
Where meet the good, the pure, the brave. 
When I, no more a tyrant's- slave, 

Will meet with love and thee, lassie. 



61 

Till then, farewell ! May Heaven's high power, 
On thee His choicest blessings shower, 
And cheer thee in affliction's hour, 

When far from love and thee, lassie ! 

Aug. 18, 1840. 



A VOICE FROM BEVERLEY. 

No. II. 



[This aong was printed in the " Chartist Circular," Deo. 26, 184©. 
It was sung, the same month, by Mr. John Taylor, at a Concert 
given at Kirkcaldy, and rapturously applauded. Mr. Taylor writes, 
in allusion to the circumstance, — " For my own part, I do admire 
the stem, the unbending, and the indomitable courage of Mr. Peddie, 
as displayed in that song, especially the last verse of it.] 



Oh ! Loudon's woods and Cowden knowes, 

Your absence sair I mourn, — 
A captive held in tyrant's thrall, 

From love and freedom torn. 
But yet, by fancy pictured bright, 

My happy home I see, 
And roam again my native hills, 

In fancy, love, with thee. 

Again I see the sun's first ray- 
Gild Loudon's braes sae green ; 

And meet the approach of opening day, 
By Gala's silver stream. 



62 

And frae famed Dryburgh's heights I view 
The gloamin's thickening gloom, — 

Her mantle throw o'er Leader s haughs, 
And Cowden's bonny broom. 

But, oh ! these fleeting joys are but 

The shadow's airy form, 
Or wint'ry sun on Tweed's fair stream, 

When swoln by winter's storm ; 
Or, like the lightning's vivid flash, 

That darkness brings to view, 
I only feel the want the mair 

Of freedom, love, and you. 

The storm around me darker grows, 

Mair mirk the dungeon's gloom ; 
And waur to thole, and fiercer still, 

The tyrants' rage become. 
But yet they're dear — to memory dear, 

A' Loudon's heights and howes, 
And, Oh ! they're sweet — to the captive sweet, 

His dreams of Cowden knowes. 

For them I'll brave the tyrants' rage, 

As the oak the angry storm ; 
Nor like the craven willow stoop, 

Though my heart's wi' anguish torn. 
I yet would stem oppression's tide, 

As the rocks the stormy sea ; 
But, Oh ! I long for your green hill side, 

For freedom, love and thee. 

Oct. 21, 1840. 



63 



SONG. 

The time was when Scotland her flag waved in glory, 

And nobly repell'd e'en the power of proud Rome ; 
The deeds of her sons were then annal'd in story, 

And smiling contentment cheer'd each highland home; 
Her green fertile valleys were fill'd then with pleasure ; 

But waes me, poor Scotia, thy days are a* gane ; 
For England's proud monarchs, for centuries together, 

Have vainly endeavour'd to conquer your land. 

The pibroch's bold numbers your free sons did gather, 

The best blood of England was shed by their brand ; 
Your mountains and glens then, were fill'd with true 
pleasure, 

The meteor of Freedom still blazed o'er your strand. 
But, waes me, poor Scotland ! your glory's sair faded, 

Your best sons of Freedom are low in their grave, 
Or forced from the land of their fathers are seeking 

A shelter and home o'er the far west'rn wave. 

In your mountains and glens there are wailing and sorrow, 

Their heather's now trod by the feet of a slave, 
Yet the proud day will come when again in full glory 

The green flag of Freedom triumphant shall wave. 
And our lov'd home become what she's now but in story, 

The birth place of freedom, the land of the brave ! 
Her mountains and glens shall again yield true pleasure, 

When banish'd afar is the tyrant and slave. 

Oct. 21, 1840. 



64 



SONG. 

Though I see the sunbeams playing, 

And the flowrets gaily spring ; 
Hear the small birds sweetly singing, 

Joys to me they downa bring. 
Though all nature is rejoicing, 

And the lark with dewy wing, 
Far 'midst heaven's azure soaring, 

Sings his welcome to the spring. 

What though every hill and valley 

Ring with jocund mirth and glee, 
Flow'ry dale or scented meadow 

Yield nae langer joys to me ; 
Not for me the sweets of summer 

All their rich abundance shed, 
Days of toil and nights of sorrow 

Hang around my captive head. 

But my loved one ! I shall meet thee 

When life's fitful fever's fled, 
When the gloomy reign of terror 

Hangs no more above my head. 
Yes, my loved one, I shall meet thee 

On that calm and peaceful shore, 
Where the wicked cease from troubling, 

Where the tyrants' rage is o'er. 

Sept. 21, 1840. 



65 



VERSES. 

In vain the state-paid priest may try 
With powers of darkness to outvie ; 
With chains of ignorance to bind 
The working of the human mind ; 
In vain the dungeon's echoing moan 
May answer back the pris'ner's groan ; 
In vain the scaffold's self may run 
Red with the blood of Freedom's son. 

In vain the throne may pour its thunder, 
To scatter freedom's bonds asunder ; 
Who in brotherhood are join d, 
To free from tyrants' toils the mind. 
The day will come when they'll assemble, 
And tyrants yet will fear and tremble, 
To see fair Freedom's heroes stand, 
Fix'd, firm, united, through the land. 

Yes, Freedom's day-spring from on high, 
Now lightens up our darken'd sky, 
Oppression vile will soon be hurl'd 
From power by an admiring world ; 
In vain shall tyrants curs'd conspire 
To quench fair Freedom's heavenly fire. 
With powers of hell and darkness join'd, 
To bend the freedom of the mind. 

Sept. 21, 1840. 



66 



THAT AWFU' FELLOW, PEDDIE. 

Air — " Nid Noddin\" 



[" I have a long, ludicrous thing on the anvil," writes Mr. Peddie, 
" but which I will not likely be permitted to send you, as it con- 
tains political allusions. The spirit of it, however, may be seen from 
the following lines.' 1 ] 



That awfu' fellow, Peddie, was to burn a our towns, — 
To tak' a' our siller, and to crack a' our crowns ; 
Wha sairly plagued the clergy in Auld Reekie town, 
And drave the native Scotsman from the Waterloo 
Rooms ; 

For his tongue was aye waggin , wag, wag, waggin ; 

His tongue was aye waggin' at their meetings, too. 

Eh ! man, he's fa en in the trap, ye weel ken, 

That was snugly laid in Yorkshire for him and other 

men; 
He cam' to our hand, the muckle silly coof, 
As the heel o' the pint stoup comes to my loof ; 

But his tongue's nae mair waggin', wag, wag, waggin' ; 

His tongue's nae mair waggin' at their meetings noo ! * 

Nov. 18, 1840. 

* " As to any of my doggrel which Sankey may wish, you will 
only send him such as will not make me ridiculous. Moreover, say, 
in sober truth, if you think my newly-fledged Muse in reality worth 
courting. No man, you know, can be a fair judge of his own 
bantling !" 






67 



BEVERLEY MINSTRELSY. 



TO THE EDITOR OF THE NORTHERN STAR. 

" I have enclosed you the following verses, not with 
any conviction that they possess either sterling merit or 
poetic beauty ; but from the peculiarly distressing and 
affecting circumstances in which they were composed. 
They may be, by my friends at least, considered inte- 
resting, as a proof that my spirit is not yet broken 
down by the enormous amount of my past, present, and 
anticipated sufferings, — undeserved and unprecedented 
as those sufferings in reality are. It also has answered 
one good purpose to myself already ; that is, in occupy- 
ing, as they have done, a few hours (about a day, I 
think, altogether) in their composition, which has pre- 
vented my thoughts, for that period, from being more 
painfully occupied. I intend the verses to answer the 
delightful air of ' Logan Braes.' " Letter from R. Peddfa. 



SPIRIT OF FREEDOM. 

Spirit of Freedom ! thou deign st to dwell 
With the patriot in his cell ; 
And dost thy heavenly aid impart 
To soothe the sorrows of his heart ; 
Send'st him thy influence divine, 
To comfort, an exhaustless mine, 
To cheer the dungeon s dismal gloom, 
Though meant by tyrants for his tomb. 



Spirit of Freedom ! when woes oppress, 
When friends desert, and foes distress ; 
When grim misfortune threat'ning low'rs, 
And sorrows mark the passing hours ; 
Tis joy to know that in his cell, 
Breathes the same spirit that breath'd in Tell, 
Inspir'd a Wallace, and did burn 
So nobly bright at Bannockburn ! 

Spirit of Freedom ! be ever nigh, 
When the pain'd bosom heaves the sigh, 
When tears of woe each other chase, 
Down the patriot's grief- worn face ; 
Tears of woe for others shed, 
For others' griefs his bosom bled ; 
That ne'er for sorrows all his own, 
He ever felt, or yet has shewn. 

Spirit of Fredom ! be ever found, 
WTien sorrows sad this bosom wound, 
With griefs for those more dear than life, 
My orphan child — my widow'd wife ; — 
And, oh ! thy heavenly influence shed 
Around these helpless sufferers' head, 
Inspire this breast with joys to come, 
Should Freedom once more bless my home. 

For vainly, Power ! thy surpliced band 
May spread their errors through the land, 
To lead the ductile mind astray, 
Far, far from Truth's delightful sway ; 
Curst Superstition's blighting gloom, 
Of the mind's energies the tomb, 
Dispels, fair sprite, before thy ray, 
Fast openiag up a glorious day. 



In vain these dungeons may enclose 
The suff 'ring patriot and his woes : 
His orphan child to poortith driven, 
His wife deprived of all but Heaven ; 
That widow's wail — that orphan's cry, 
Ascending incense to the sky, 
Will on the oppressor bring a rod, — 
The wrath of an avenging God. 

In vain, cruel Power her hands may stain 
"With blood of Freedom's martyrs slain, 
Or madly dare the deadly strife 
Where Freedom may be bought with life. 
Yes, vain ! while million souls inherit, 
Freedom, thy never dying spirit, 
Which now lights up my dungeon's gloom, 
Though meant to be the patriot's tomb. 

Yes, vain all arts will tyrants fmd, 
To cramp or bind the human mind ; 
For onward with resistless force, 
The stream of mind shall hold her course. 
Till they can stop the living sun, 
From his appointed race to run ; 
Till they the ocean's waves can stay, 
Their mandate we shall ne'er obey. 
Feb. 18, 1841. 

* The preceding verses were printed in the " Northern Star " of 
6th March; and in the " Midland Counties Illuminator" of 10th 
April, published at Leicester by the Rcy. Mr. Cooper. 



70 



Mr. Peddie's poetical amusements, innocent though 
they were, were now destined to meet with a short in- 
terruption. The occasion the editor shall state in his 
own words : 

" I have this moment met with a trifling, but annoy- 
ing disappointment. The Magistrates have objected to 
a few stanzas of doggrel ryhme I had written to amuse 
you, and to divert the tedium of confinement, or perhaps 
to exercise Georgina in selecting music for, when she 
could spare time from her other educational avocations, 
rather than with any other view. I am in an excellent 
•school to learn what I might formerly be deficient in — 
patience. God grant that it may have its perfeet work ! 
But every thing has an end, so will my present truly 
miserable and very unhappy slavery terminate, either by 
death or otherwise. Would to God either the one event 
or the other were arrived ! Then might my weary 
spirit shake off this mortal coil, and wing its glad flight 
to those realms where the voice of oppression is never 
heard, with as much joy as ever bridegroom hastened to 
meet his expectant bride ; but the will of God be done ! 
I join with much sincerity in the prayer of your last 
letter. May these afflictions produce in my mind the 
peaceable fruits of righteousness. But surely I must be 
a more important personage than I ever in my vainest 
moments ever imagined, when the possibility of any 
doggrel song from my pen being sung, becomes an object 
of dread to the authorities. But submission is the duty 
of a Christian, and I will submit so long as it is the will 
of God to call upon me to do so, and that, too, without 
a murmur." 



71 

This poem of Mr. Peddie s, to which so much undue 
importance seems to have been attached, was a transla- 
tion or adaptation of a song of the French revolution, 
entitled " Yiva, viva la Peuple !" It was sung in the 
courts and streets of Paris, and a copy sent to Louis XIV., 
years before the outbreak of that revolution. It is similar, 
we presume, to the spirit of the Marseillaise Hymn. 
Perhaps his address to the " Spirit of Freedom," which 
had appeared in the public prints, might not be very 
palatable to his inquisitors, and weighed with them ac- 
cordingly. 

He was more fortunate with his next poetical attempt, 
which was allowed to pass the portals of his prison 
without obliteration. This he anticipated. " I have 
sent you a long something in ryhme, which, to your 
getting, I do not anticipate any objection, as I have en- 
deavoured to obey the injunctions of the Magistrates, 
in confining myself to the expression of my own feelings. 
Besides, as it cannot be sung, and is too long for news- 
paper publication (this was not the case), I have little 
dread in that respect. The measure is eccentric and ir- 
regular, and very difficult to write. For that purpose 
I adopted it, to see if my command of language would 
master the difficulty. How far I have succeeded, you 
are the best judge." 

Here follows the " Ode to Freedom," which was 
printed in the " Northern Star " of May 8th. 

A few of the verses, marked with an asterisk, were 
omitted in the printing of the poem, on account of its 
extreme length for the columns of a newspaper. Its 
merits, however, contrary to the expectation of the au- 
thor, insured it a ready insertion. 



ODE TO FREEDOM. 

Freedom, I would not thy banner stain 
With one single drop from a human vein, 
England's bright diadem to gain, 

Her power, her kingdoms three ! 
Or o'er her hundred millions reign, 

If human life the price would be. 

No trophies I want from the battle-field, 
No blood-bought triumphs war can yield ; 
Freedom, I would not soil thy shield 

"With breath of dying warrior's sigh ! 
Nor would I thy strong bulwarks build 

'Midst widows' tears or orphans' cry ! 

Yet would I'd dared the deadly strife, 
And in that struggle lost a life, 
Pregnant with woe, and horror rife, 

Than like a felon thus to lie ; 
Robb'd of my friends and faithful wife, 

Condemn'd to silent slavery. 

* Who would not death and danger brave, 
Than here remain the veriest slave, 
That ere a tyrant master drave, 

Condemn d to vilest drudgery ? 
Breathes there a man would shun the grave, 

To live the sport of tyranny ? 



73 

No thirst of gold, no love of gain, 
With crime my conscience ere did stain, 
Though traitors did a victim gain 

In me, by deeds of knavery ; 
Yet public shame will brand their name 

With acts of foulest treachery. 

'Tis true I Britain's freedom sought, 
And Freedom's moral battle fought ; 
'Tis true I sought to mend the lot 

Of suffering humanity, 
And drive oppression from the cot 

Of labour, toil, and honesty. 

But hush, my muse, come clip your wing, 
For even thy sorrows ye dare not sing, 
Nor expression give to the woes that wring 

Thy breast with anguish and with grief, 
Though voice to thy sorrows might haply bring 

Unto thy suffering heart relief. 

The thoughts of the slave are no longer free, 
My master's mandate would reach even thee, 
Thou spark of immortality, 

Though free as the white sea-foam, 
And meant by thy Maker eternally 

Through his boundless works to roam. 

Yet man, proud man ! would trammel thee ! 
Thou soul of love, life, and liberty, 
Who art, than tide or wind more free, 

Best proof of the power of God ; 
Illimitable thought ! who would trammel thee, 

May dread the Almighty's rod. 



74 

Scotland ! no more thy woods will ring 
With joy awaked by the voice of spring, 
Or the laverock sweet in the welkin sing 

His anthem my breast to move ; 
And each feather'd warbler his tribute bring, 

Of song to Freedom and Love. 

Ah ! dear to me, Scotland, thy mossy rills, 
Thy silent streams — thy heathery hills, — 
Thy wide-spread moors — thy stormy fells, 

Hound whose summit the wild earn soars ; 
The dreams of which yet my bosom fills 

"With love to thy rough rugged shores. 

But dearer by far than thy rugged strand, 
(And, oh ! how dear is that mountain-land, 
And the memory blest of her patriot band, 

That defied e'en the pow'r of proud Rome,) 
That affectionate heart and smile so bland, 

That was mine in my humble home. 

No more for me the beauteous Tay 
Will wind her wild romantic way, 
Where oft I've pass'd the lee lang day, 

Her wild woodland banks among; 
Or listen' d enraptured to the mavis' lay, 

Or the cheerful laverock's song. 

No more in that pure mountain-wave 
My sportive limbs with glee I'll lave, 
With buoyant breast her billows brave, 

Or her yielding waters part ; 
Alas ! I'm now that thing — a slave ! 

With a woful and breaking heart. 



75 

But quiet, my soul, nor dare repine, 
There is joy beyond the bounds of time, 
The patriot's God, he still is thine, 

Thy hiding-place, thy guard, thy shield ; 
Who, for thee, has happiness divine, 

Far more than earth can yield. 

He, who permits the storm to rave, 
Can still the ocean s wildest wave, 
And inspire thy suffering heart to brave 

The tyrant's vengeful pow'r ; 
His Almighty arm is strong to save, 

In sorrow's murkiest hour. 

*Nor doubt thy God's protecting power, 
Though storms assail or tempests lower, 
Dangers appal, or tyrants pour 

Their vengeance on thy head ; 
He'll tend thee in affliction's hour, 

And round thee blessings shed. 

Though Freedom's opening day's o'ercast, 
Though fierce the storm and loud the blast, 
This night of sorrow will not last, 

Even now there's a glorious morn 
Approaching, whose bright'ning will radiance cast 

Through the gloom of the dismal storm. 

Even now the Genius of Freedom stands, 
Smiling brave on her patriot bands,' 
Who yet will free her favour'd land 

From tyrants' chains and slavery ; 
And her meteor flag wave o'er the strand, 

In Freedom's bloodless victory. 



76 

The thoughts of home my bosom cheers, 
As through the mist of tedious years, 
Freedom's approaching day appears, 

That long'd-for day still distant far ; 
For clouds and storms, and doubts and fears, 

The pleasant prospect often mar. 

Still that fond hope in my bosom burns, 

I dream of joy that ne'er returns, 

Of that loved one whose fond heart mourns 

For the husband she vainly toils to save ; 
Whose aching heart, and wasting form, 

Will shelter soon in the friendly grave. 

* Consumption's victim, weak and worn, 
Whose haggard face and wasted form, 
That sinks beneath the winter storm, 

And soon must tread that gloomy shore, 
From whose much dreaded fatal bourne 
The traveller returns no more. 

* Yet e'en for him Hope spreads her wing, 
Exulting with the thought that Spring, 
With health renew'd, will vigour bring, 

But, alas ! for him no flowers will bloom, 
Nor verdure grow, nor warblers sing, 
Save o'er the sufferer's silent tomb. 

When God decrees I'll glad obey, 
And shuffle off this mortal clay, 
And cheerful wing my willing way 

Far from this earthly realm of night, 
To bask in the uncreated ray 

Of the Almighty's living light. 



77 

The Great Invisible is seen * 

In each flowret sweet that scents the green, 

As well as in yon starry sheen 

That gilds the arch of heaven ; 
But man's corrupted power, I ween, 

Is mixed so much with sinful leaven, 

He 'sees not the great propelling Power 
That bids planets roll, or thunders roar ; 
Marks no design in each beauteous flower 

That adorns the hill and the sunken glen, 
Though felt and acknowledged, that unseen Power, 

By all but blinded sinful men. 

But the pure and regenerated soul, 
Released from passions' blind control, 
While endless ages ceaseless roll 

Their awful everlasting flight, 
The wonders of love will engross the whole 

Of the soul's desires with fresh delight. 

Creation's wonders it then shall scan, 
God's mercy admire in the marvellous plan 
That Salvation brought to sinful man ; 

And, adoring with awe, behold 
The glory of God in the face of the Lamb, 

Whose love for us can ne'er be told. 

Then I'll welcome my love to that happy shore, 
Where the savage tyrants' rage is o'er, 
Where cursed Oppression's voice no more 

By the sufferers' ear is heard ; 
Where, basking in love unmixed and pure, 

The patriot reaps his rich reward. 



78 



THE IMPRISONED CHARTIST TO HIS WIFE. 

Air — " Lachin-y-garr.'''' 

Years have roll'd on, my dear Jane, since I left you, 

Years will roll on ere I see you again ; 
Tho' Time may of youth, health, and beauty bereave you, 

But still to my fond heart my loved one's the same. 
Thy rich glossy locks, now as dark as the raven, 

By Time may be bleach'd as the white driven snow, 
The rose from thy cheek by the lily be driven. 

And Age place her wrinkles on thy fair marble brow S 

Thy blue eye, so lovely, may lose all its brightness, 

The rich ruby tint from thy lip may have flown ; 
Thy fair form, so sylph-like, may lose all its lightness, 

And the frost of life's winter around thee be strewn ; 
But still in my bosom, with increasing freshness, 

Thy beauty shall flourish as years roll away ; 
Like a mountain stream's channel increasing in deepness, 

Till life's warm flood round my heart cease to play. 

For beauty thou hast, more endearing and lasting 

Than that which the limner to canvass can give, 
The charms of thy mind, every woman's surpassing, 

With virtue and truth still immortal shall live. 
When the bloom of thy fair face, which first raised emotion 

Within my sad bosom, is faded and gone, 
Those charms that at first fix'd my heart's fond devotion, 

Shall dwell on my loved one, and on thee alone ! 



79 

For ne'er from my bosom, while memory is holding 

With reason its sway o'er this sad heart of mine, 
Will depart that loved scene, when my arms enfolding 

Thy young lovely form, ye pledged to be mine ! 
Yes ! deep in my sad heart, engraved by affection, 

Each tree, bush, and flow'r shall for ever remain ; 
Each star's twinkling ray, and the pale moon reflecting 

Each object around in the bosom of Tyne. 

Yes, there they shall live, although sorrow and sadness 

Have made me their victim, and darkness and gloom 
In the dungeon surround me, — a stranger to gladness, — 

By tyrants consign'd to the traitor's vile doom. 
Though robb'd of each blessing that gives life its value, 

Deprived of each pleasure existence can yield, 
To the thief and the robber compell'd to say " fellow !" 

Reduced to the level of beasts of the field. * 

But still, thro' the gloom of the storm that surrounds me, 
This tyrant-raised tempest of sorrow and pain, 

One bright star's still shining, of which they can't rob me, 
The mueh-tried affection — the love of my Jane ! 



* " I have stated, in this line, what perhaps is not strictly true, 
that I am reduced to the level of the beasts of the field. The only 
animal I know is the mill-korse of a tan-yard, whose condition most 
nearly resembles the state to which the inhuman barbarity of her 
Majesty's ministers has reduced me ; but even that rnosl? unfortunate 
of quadrupeds, in his daily toil in the bark-mill, enjoys advantages 
that we do not. His master has an interest in his continued health 
and strength, which is not the case with the two-legged brutes with 
whom I now rank, and whose death is a matter of indifference. — 
In the above verses, I have quoted one line from Scoffs Lady of the 
Lake."' R. P. 



80 

That love is no summer flower, bright in the sunbeam, 
In the frosts of misfortune to wither and fade, 

But blooms like the hardy pine, fast by the mountain- 
stream, 
The beauty and pride, of the forest and glade. 

"Whose " roots in the rifted rock, laugh at the tempest* s 
shock," 

Unmoved by the storm that round it may roar; 
Love, that oppression mocks, steady's our guardian rocks 

That repel th' Atlantic's wild waves from the shore. 
Constant and true's been thy virtue's affection, Jane, 

Doubling my pleasures, and now soothes my pain, 
Dispelling the dark gloom, and yielding the happy 
dream 

Of joys that are gone, I may ne'er see again. 

Yet, in my dreams I still meet thee, loved one, — 

In the visions of night I am with thee again ; 
Sweet music I hear from the lips of my fond one, 

Enraptured as on thy fair bosom I lean. 
But, alas! there's no voice wakes the still of my dungeon, 

Save the groans of some sufFrer in anguish and pain. 
Which fancy converts to the voice of affection, 

While the music I hears but the loud rolling chain ! 

But still there's a pleasure in that fond delusion, — 

Joy with the shadow, though substance be gone ; 
'Tis thus the poor maniac is cheer'd in his dungeon, 

And empire enjoys on his straw-fabric'd throne. 
And, oh ! may those visions still flutter around me, 

Till life's feeble flame in my bosom decay, 
Till the darkness of death shall in mercy surround me. 

And the last fading image of earth flee awav. 



81 



POSTSCRIPT. 



Farewell, my dear Jane ! thy name shall be handed, 
In the stories of Freedom, to ages unborn ; 

While the name of our foes, with just infamy branded, 
Shall be but remember d with hatred and scorn. 

20th May, 1841. 



EPIGRAM. 

It bears some resemblance to that plan 
On which God framed the noble creature, Man ! 
It walks, moreover, erect, like other monkeys, 
Or it might well have rank'd among the donkeys. 

I have oft look'd to see if it wore cloots, 
Like most of the creature's fellow brutes, 
But found it * * * * 



Hell, from beneath, will move to meet him, 
Auld Clooty's self rejoice to greet him ; 
The common damn'd will flee before him, 
As far too vile and wicked for them. 



2e 



82 



THE SONG OF TPIE DBUNKARB. 
Part I. 



Air — " Coine fy let us a 1 to the oridaV 



CHORUS. 

Then fegs Til awa to the Peebles, 
For there will be drinking there ; 

And ranting, and roaring, and singing, 
To drown both our reason and care I 

That Reason s a troublesome neighbour, : 

A grumbling and meddlesome elf; 
He tells me I'm starving my bairn, 

And ruining my wife and myself; 
My conscience lie sets a' a dirling, 

My breast with, the horrors he fills, 
There's naething can settle his clamouring. 

Like tippence worth o' Aitchison's yill. 
Then fegs, &c. 

Its true that he says, I'm a drunkard, 

Wi' scarcely a sark to my back ; 
The feck o' my claes being pawnded, 

In my pouch there is seldom a plack. 
The soles from my shoon have departed, 

My best coat has ta'en its dead ill ; 
I'm sure I wad be broken hearted, 

Were it no for auld Aitchison's yill. 
Then fegs, &c. 



83 

Before I gaed down to the Peebles, 

My wife was aye eouthie and kind ; 
My bairns were weel clad and happy, 

And ilk thing gaed right to my mind. 
But now they are starving and ragged, 

My wife's a poor broken down drab, 
Their greeting for bread, and her flyting, 

Wad drive ony poor body mad. 
Then fegs, &c. 

Before I gaed down to the Peebles, 

My house was weel plenish'd wi' gear, 
My fireside was aye clean and canty, 

And smiling contentment was there. 
But now the four wa's are maist empty, 

A fire we have seldom ava ! 
For chairs we have big stanes to sit on, 

Our bed just a pickle clean straw. 
Then fegs, &c. 

They ca' this the age of invention ; 

The Chemist's has grown a queer trade : — 
They are changing the nature o' a' things, 

Even gas frae cauld water they've made ; 
But these need nae raise ony wonder, 

For I am their equal in skill ; 
My table, my chairs, and my bedsteads, 

Are turn d into Aitchison's yill. 
Then fegs, &c. 

18th June, 1841. 



84 



THE SONG OF THE DRUNKARD. 
Part II. 

Eh ! Jock, my dear fellow ! I'm happy 

The best o' my cronies to see ; 
See, man, I hae got a white shilling, 

Pray, neighbour, how muckle hae ye ? 
" O man ! but ye've surely been lucky, 

I, too, hae a sixpence ruysel' ; 
So, fegs, we'll awa to the Peebles, 

And make oursel's happy wi' yill." 

Come away, then, my man, and I'll tell you 

How I happen'd the shilling to get ; 
And I'm sure at the story you'll laugh weel, 

For I took it by force frae our Bet ; 
Ye ken that last night we were drinking, 

When I got mysel' gloriously fou ; 
I maun hae broken my head in the hame gaum 

For I mind nought after parting wi' you : 

But on wak'ning this mornin my face was a' 

Cover'd wi* bruises and blood ; 
My head seem'd fast splitting in pieces, 

And round me the blue devils stood ; 
And there they were capering and dancing 

Like antics as e'er you did see ; 
My limbs were a' quivering and shaking, 

Good faith ! I weel thought I wad dee. 



85 

But I kenn'd that for a' human ailments, 

No med'cine's like Aitchison's yill ; 
And a hair o' the dog that did bite me, 

Would very soon make me fu' weel. 
But how raise the wind for to get it, 

Was what I weel kenn'd nae ava ; 
We had naething a broker would look on, 

Would buy, or would carry awa ! 

My best coat ye ken had been pawnded, 

And deil a spare sark had our Bet, 
In good truth it seem'd for to beat me, 

A drap o' the creature to get. 
Our Bet's tongue was gaun like the devil, 

The bairns were greetin' for bread, 
My horrors were getting outrageous, 

When a lucky thought enter'd my head. 

Says I, to our Bet, " My braw woman ! 

Ye'll do what I'll bid ye my lass ; 
I'm sure ye'll get bread for your bairns, 

And bring me my much- wanted glass ! 
Ye ken there's some chiels in the High Street, 

Who destitute sick folk attend, 
Ye'll gang, and ye'll tell them a story, 

I think some assistance they'll send." 

So aff Bessie gaed in a hurry, 

And brought back a sanctified chiel, 
To whom I did tell a lang story 

About being very unweel ; — 
I've been six months and mair kept from working, 

I'd fa'en down through absolute want ; 
So he whips out this bonny white shilling, 

And havers a great deal o' cant. 



86 

So quickly my duds I did gather, 

And ask'd but a sixpence frae Bet ; 
Who ca'd me a ne'er-do-weel scoundrel, 

And swore deil a farthing I'd get. 
This pat me, guid faith ! in a passion, 

So I gied her a pair o' blue een ; 
Took frae her the hale o' the shilling, 

And bade her and her bairns guid e'en. 

Eh ! man, but your story's a queer ane, 

My troth, your a real clever chiel ; 
Your talent, your tack, and your queer ways, 

Would mak ye a match for the deil ; 
I can tell you a real funny story, 

Tho' not just so clever as yours, 
That happen'd last week in the Peebles, 

About a pint-stoup friend o' ours. 

I'd been sitting a day in the Peebles, 

Wi' flent haet my wissen to wat, 
But the draps that were left in the pint stoups 

Whilk I frae the waiter chield gat. 
Whan wha should come down but big Bailey, 

A vain, silly tailor, is Jock, 
I bade him " guid day," and I fasten'd 

Like a cur on the poor silly gouk. 

He seem'd in most capital spirits, 

Some wark from a friend he had got ; 
The claith 'neath his oxter he carried, 

To mak' for his friend a braw coat. 
I sang to him, flatter' d, and fleech'd weel, 

Ye ken I'm a capital sang, 
The poor body caroused and tippled, 

Till he fill'd himsel bitch-fou ere lang. 



87 

When I got him right snugly a-snoring, 

The claith frae his oxter I got • 
Whilk aff to the pawn-shop I hurried, 

And pledged it for twa and a groat. _ ^ 

Then back wi' as much speed as might be, 

In his pouch the pawn-ticket to place, 
Syne march'd myself off, most discreetly, 

And wish'd the poor donard mair grace. 

But the best o' the joke man's but comin, 

Ye ken Aitchison likes a good name, 
And at ten he puts a' his best friends out, 

If they're able to find the road hame. 
'Mongst the lave they have shov'd out poor Bailey, 

Who snugly lay down in the strand, 
When after some funny adventures, 

In the police the body did land. 

When they search' d him they found the pawn-ticket 

(They kenn'd he'd nae claith o' his ain), 
But I wisely had ta'en the precaution, 

To pledge't in the poor body's name. 
To cut short my lang-winded story, 

They found the braid-claith wi' Bob Short, 
And sent the poor creature to Bridewell, 

And I drank his twa and a groat. 

What nonsense these temperance coveys 

Do haver their poor dupes amang ; 
They say that we are poor doited drunkards, 

That our minds and our judgments are wrang; 
That our reason is drown d in the whisky, 

That we're warst o' a' foes to oursel' ; 
Poor drink-water donards they ken nae, 
Nought quickens the judgment like yill. 



88 

They may brag o' the merit o' water, 

To its virtues they're welcome for me ; 
Wi' my will it shall ne'er cross my thrapple, 

Frae this till the day that I dee. 
It had been lang e'er the love o' cauld water 

Had gien us the wit or the skill 
To have raised the wind, as we have done : 

No : there's naething like Aitchison's yill. 

What nonsense to say that the drunkard 

Is the warst of a' foes to himsel', 
When to get his loved drap o' the creature, 

His friend, wife, and bairns he'd sell ; 
He'd starve them, or let them gang naked, 

To rob, steal, or run to the deil 
He cares not, so that he can aye get 

His wame fill'd wi' Aitchison's yill. 

Besides, I can prove that the drunkard 

Is the very best friend of the State ; 
Do ye think had the folk been a' drunkards, 

There would have been so much nonsense of late, 
About what they ca' rights and freedom, 

They've been in a terrible funk ; 
But we care not for rights or for freedom, 

Save only the right to get drunk ! 

A drunkard is never a rebel, 

A Chartist or Radical loon ; 
We ne'er think o' cutting king's wissens, 

0' robbing and plundering their towns. 
Of subjects we'd prove the most faithfu', 

Were Clooty himself on the throne, 
O'er the pint stoup baith thoughtless and careless, 

Though the hard-working millions might groan. 



Besides it's been proved by friend Malthus, 

That there's owre mony folk in the land ; 
But the thick-headed fools are still coupling, 

His doctrines they'll no understand. 
And the famed plan o' painless extinction, 

The best e'er invented by man, 
For thinning the people completely, 

Or throttling their bairnies aff hand. 

But in spite of the sense o' good Marcus, 

His plan, faith ! will not do ava ; 
The poor folk 'ill nae part wi' their bairns, 

Nor hang them — nor throw them awa. 
But we do the job most completely, 

For as soon as a poor fool we get, 
And succeed in confirming a drunkard, 

Neither bairn he'll keep, nor yet get ! 

Besides, 'tis a clear demonstration, 

A drunkard lives scarce half his days, 
And as for the poor creature's family, 

Soon they sink 'neath their burden o' waes. 
It is thus that we're serving our country, 

When our wames wi' guid liquor we fill j 
For thinning and quieting the people 

There's naething like Aitchison's yill. 

Then, hurra ! my braw lads, for the Peebles ! 

Three cheers for auld Aitchison's Tap ; 
And the deil tak' the craven and coward 

That wad drink o' cauld water a drap. 
True patriots I've proved that we must be, 

AYha drink for our ain country's good, 
And leave to the poor dreaming poets, 

To sing o' their clear cheerful flood, 



90 



THE SONG OF THE DRUNKARD. 
Part III. 

Now, my braw lads f we're a' seated, 

In Aitchison's snug cosie den, 
And, fegs, we will make oursel's happy, 

Maist canty and jovial of men. 
We'll care nought for the world that's aboon us, 

We're fourteen feet under the ground, 
And like every soul else that's been buried 

We'll leave all our sorrows behind. 

Of the pains-taking world we're as careless 

As him that is snug in his grave, 
Of their wisdom and prudence we're heedless, 

Care, at best's, but an ill-natured slave. 
There's naught in existence can vex us, 

Save the ghost of a wife eomin' down, 
Or a mithei, a blath'ring and clam'ring, 

As if we were burning the town. 

To my thinking, the drink* water people, 

Who on drunkards with pity look down, 
Know nought of the pleasure of drinking, 

And how every sorrow it drowns. 
They tell us our families are wretched, 

But what's that, friend Murray, to you, 
Though your wife may be girning and scolding, 

Ye hear not her tongue when you're fou. 



91 

We live in a world of spirits, 

A creation of Aitchison' s yill ; 
For the flesh- and-blood world we're careless. 

So long's we the pint-stoup can fill. 
But which of the two is most happy, 

Why that may be just as it suits ; 
But to come to a proper conclusion, 

We'll judge ilka tree by its fruits. 

The best Bard that e'er sang in Scotia, 

Says " Pleasures like poppies are spread, 
You stretch out your hand for the llowret, 

Its short-living beauties are fled !" 
But what we grasp, friends, is substantial, 

Our bosoms wi' rapture we fill, 
And makes us than kings far more happy, 

There's sic pleasure in Aitchison s yilL 

Moreover (the Bard says), and truly, 

" Joys are just like snaw-falls on a stream, 
Ere ye see them, they vanish for ever, 

And pleasure itsel's but a dream !" 
If that is the case, my dear fallows, 

That dreams only pleasure distil, 
'Tis guid sense to lengthen our dreaming 

Wi' draughts of auld Aitchison's yill. 

I mind, when I was a bit callan, 

Of going a lecture to hear, 
About something they ca'd Mother Physic, 

A subject both funny and queer. 
A story 'bout matter and motion, 

Was told by a college-bred chiel, 
Who made out, by clear demonstration, 

There neither was heaven or deil ! 



92 

But as soon as he'd finish' d his story, 

A birkie, gey gleg o' the tongue, 
Got up and commenced a haranguing, 

And proved that his neighbour was wrang ; 
That a' that he said was sheer nonsense, 

When such statements to reason were brought, 
That asses and men were but fancies, 

Existence itself but a thought. 

But whilk o' the twa may be nearest 

The truth, sure I canna weel tell ; 
But this I shall clearly establish, 

That whisky must bear aff the bell. 
If we're nothing but matter and motion, 

Then yill is o' matter a spunk ; 
Sure all will allow that does ken it, 

I've aye the maist motion when drunk. 

Or if pleasure and pain in this world 

Are matters of fancy and thought, 
What folly to labour for riches, 

The possession is surely dear bought ; 
When sax pints o' yill and some whisky, 

Our heads fill with fancies anew, 
And gies us wealth, comfort, and riches, 

For I'm aye unco rich when I'm fou ! 

There's Sandy M'Laughlan the grocer, 

A drink- water creature is he, 
Just four weeks agone since last Sunday, 

His wife took a thought she would dee. 
Beneath this sad loss he's fast sinking, 

The bodie will soon dee himsel', 
Unless he seeks safety in drinking, 

And comfort in Aitchison's yill. 



93 

Look down to the end of the table, 

Ye'll see a red nose thro' the smoke, 
Its neighbours I hear are a' laughing, 

Its owner s been cracking a joke ; 
Now the face thro' the smoke is appearing, 

Saw ye e'er sic a picture o' worth, 
A countenance beaming with pleasure, 

For him there's nae sorrow on earth. 

Tis true that his claes are grown shabby, 

To hide his body it costs him some wark, 
His coat to his throat he's up-buttoned, 

To cover his want o' a sark; 
The rim frae his hat has departed, 

His muckle tae's touching the ground ; 
But for a' that, the way to be happy, 

You see the glad creature has found. 

Now compare him wi' Sandy M'Laughlan, 

For he, too, has just lost his wife, 
The drinker, contented and happy, 

The drink-water tired o' his life. 
Hear how he's roaring and singing, 

The house wi' good humour he fills, 
A fact that will clearly establish 

The grave-quenching virtues o' yill. 

Of this I'll be sure to convince ye, 

As soon as his story ye hear, 
Come, here's to ye friend, I am drouthy, 

But, fegs, we have finish'd our beer ; 
An empty jug aye puts my pipe out, 

I never can sing till its full, 
So I'll just ca to mind his queer story, 

And friend ye'll ca' in some mair yill. 



94 

Well, yon red-nosed sinner so hearty, 

Had once a braw shop on the Brig ; 
A son and a fine canty wine, 

Twa daughters baith comely and trig ; 
The bodie was gey weel respected, 

By a* the fine folks in the town ; 
Would snuff up his nose at a drunkard, 

And wi' pity upon us look down. 

The man, too, was very religious, 

An elder I think o' some kirk, 
They projected to make him a bailie, 

When the poor bodie fell in the dirt. 
To yon sleekie chield in the corner, 

Tlirang fleeching yon young thoughtless chap, 
To him must belong a' the credit, 

Of working Red-nose's mishap ! 



95 



ON THE INFLUENCE OF PATRIOTIC SONGS ON THE 
MANNERS OF THE PEOPLE. 

TO THE EDITOR OF THE CHARTIST CIRCULAR. 

Fletcher of Salton said right when he spoke of the in- 
fluence of national song upon the lives and conduct of 
a people. The present age affords an instance at least 
of the truth of his opinion, in the songs of him who is 
known in France by the emphatic appellation of the 
" Bard of Freedom" — Berenger. The elder branch of 
the Bourbon family, owe, in a much greater degree, their 
expulsion from France, to the splendid effusions of Beren- 
ger, than to any other cause ; and as the brave old re- 
publican is still busying himself in striking from his 
matchless harp the notes of freedom, the younger Bour- 
bon may also, in due time, derive from the same cause 
an equal advantage of probable retirement from public 
affairs. The Bourbon seemed early to become wide 
awake to the danger of having in his dominions a rhym- 
ster who loved liberty, and to rid himself of the danger, 
sent the poet (like the Italian Pellicco) to tune his lays 
in a prison ; but truth also compels me to state, that 
the tyranny of the Bourbons falls infinitely short of that 
to which I am a victim. He was not reduced to an 
equality with the felon ; he was not reduced, by the 
infliction of a barbarous and inhuman torture (miscalled 
labour), to the very verge of the grave. He was never, 
by dint of the lash, or the dread of death by starvation, 
forced, against nature and the law of gravitation, to 



96 

keep ascending the steps of an infamous machine to the 
risk of life, and without being able to consume food, as 
I have been for nine days at a time. Even the haughty 
and tyrannic Bourbon had not the cruelty to lock up 
that son of song, in a dark and cold cell, fourteen hours 
out of every twenty-four, without light or fire, in the 
depth of a severe northern winter, as I was last season ; 
and, if God so pleases, will be the next. Nor was any 
conviction sought against him, by perjury the most gross 
and wicked. No ! although deprived of liberty, he, 
even in the mild climate of France, was indulged with 
a fire, and in every way treated as political prisoners 
hitherto were in civilized lands. It was left for these 
men, who are guiding the destinies of this most Christian, 
and, as it is termed, most highly favoured England, to 
set at nought sound policy, and by unjustifiable severity, 
to reduce their political opponents to a condition to which 
even death itself would have been a mercy. 

The following stanzas occurred to me while smarting 
under such treatment ; and pondering over what the 
spirit of liberty could effect, when led by a Bruce at 
Bannockburn : — 



97 



THE SCOTTISH CHARTISTS ADDRESS. 

Scotsmen wha hae wi Wallace bled ! 
Scots wham Bruce to freedom led, 
Freedom, for which your fathers bled, 
And, dying, gave to thee ! 

Say, are ye freemen, are ye slaves ? 
Descendants of the good and brave ! 
Say, do ye still prefer a grave 
To chains and slavery ? 

Ye bear your brave forefathers' name, 
Their blood still runs through ev'ry vein ; 
Are ye in spirit still the same 
Stern sons of liberty ? 

Say, is that spirit in you nursed, 
That on your former tyrants burst ? 
Say, is that Scotsman held accursed, 
That bends to slavery ? 

Are ye yon tyrant's vassals born,- — 
A life of ceaseless toil to mourn ; 
Each haughty lordling's jest and scorn, — 
His slaves by God's decree ? 

Are ye mere serfs of a tyrant's soil. 
Beneath their lash to weep and wail ; 
Who reap the produce of your toil, 
Then throw the husks to thee ? 



98 

Say, do ye bend your servile neck, 
Submissive to your tyrant's yoke, — 
Obedient to each lordling's beck, 
His crouching slave to be ? 

Have ye that freedom that is given, 
By God, to all that's under heaven ; 
Or by your tyrant ruthless driven 
To wretched misery ? 

But, hark ! What means yon thrilling cry, 
I hear the people's proud reply, — 
" We shall have liberty, or die ; 
Each tyrant lord shall flee ! 

" No more we bend our humble neck, 
Submissive to their servile yoke, 
Their ev'ry galling chain we break, 
We are — we shall be free ! 

" We bear our brave forefathers' name, 
We are in spirit still the same, 
We'll drain our dearest — deepest vein, 
We shall — we shall be free. 

" Each fetter from our minds we tear, 
By God's dread self we solemn swear, 
That Scotsmen shall be slaves nae mair, 
To wicked tyranny. 

" That boon for which our fathers fought, 
That freedom which with life they bought, 
Which we have firmly — fondly sought, 
We grasp triumphantly. 



99 

" Ye stern — ye patriotic band, 
Still onward, till our mountain-land 
Reverb'rates wild, frae strand to strand, 
The shout of victory !" 



REMARKABLE SCENES FROM ARTHUR SEAT. 
Part I. 

Watching the setting sun's last ray, 
On the bars of the grated window play, 

That secures my living tomb, 
Musing upon my straw I lay 
Marking the close of another day 

Of misery and gloom. 

Thinking how oft I've seen that sun, 
Rise o'er proud Arthur's summit dun, 

And gild his reverend head ; 
Opening to view rampart and wall, 
Lofty spire and lordly hall, 

Palace and peasant's shed. 

While at his feet the broad Forth roll'd, 
A silver picture, framed in gold, 

Studded with living gems, 
On whose fair breast the snow white sail, 
Seem'd a flock of eaglets on the gale, 

As they her waters stem. 



100 

While hill and dale in the bright sun's beam, 
Seem'd creatures of some fairy dream, 

So beautiful they be ; 
The Ochils bursting into day, 
The beauteous Forth, winding away, 

Majestic to the sea. 

While eastward Berwick's Law appears, 
His misty crown from his brow he rears, 

Displaying crag and tree, 
Like some iron-mailed giant knight, 
Doffing his helm to lady bright, 

In gallant courtesy. 

Rising with the opening day, 
Craigmillar s turrets, old and gray, 

Upon the sight appear ; 
Alas ! how changed since that glad day, 
When in thy halls the minstrel's lay 

Was heard by Beauty's ear. 

Ah ! beauteous Stuart, thy fate might teach 
Wisdom to kings, could it but reach 

The precincts of the throne, 
Thy fairer head the scaifold graced, 
Than e'er a courtly prelate placed 

An English crown upon. 

See yonder camp's entrenched ring, 
Where Roman eagles spread their wing, 

Fluttering o'er conquest's slavery ! 
There now the mountain-daisy springs, 
And Scottish milkmaid gaily sings, 

On their proud fields of Chivalry. 



101 

On yonder heights, by Carron's flood, 
The hardy Scottish warriors stood, 

Surveying the host below ; 
One heart-inspiring cry they gave, 
Then rush'd down like their mountain wave, 

Resistless on their foe. 

In vain, proud Rome ! her arts did try, 
Vain here, her far-famed chivalry, 

'Gainst Scottish liberty ; 
In vain her hardy warriors die, 
Their dying groans assail the sky, 

For Scotland durst be free ! 

Where now the Roman s vaunted name ? 
A legend only tells her fame, 

But, Scotsmen, what are ye ? 
Ye bear your brave forefather's name ; — 
Are ye in spirit still the same, 

Stern sons of war and glee ? 

Is that same spirit in you nursed, 
That on the Roman legion burst, 

Preferring death to slavery ; 
Say, were a tyrant's flag unfurl'd, 
"Would Freedom's spear 'gainst him be hurl'd, 

With all your forbears' energy ? 

Say, is your heather still unstain'd, 
By foot of slave, by tyrant chain'd ? 

Say, Scotsmen, are you free ? 
Or do ye bend your willing neck, 
Submissive to the tyrants' yoke, 

His crouching slaves to be ? 



102 

Say, are ye freemen ? are ye slaves ? 
Descendants of the great and brave, 

Who bade the invaders flee ; 
Or are ye serfs of the tyrants' soil, 
Who reap the produce of your toil, 

Then throw the husks to thee ? 

Say, has your gloomy dungeons grown 
Vocal, with suffering patriots' moan, 

And will they mourn for years ? 
His nature, all exhausted, sinking, 
Beneath a tyrant's torture fainting, 

Groans, music for his ears. 

Is it the public weal and wish, 
The labourer's interest and his voice, 

In all your laws to see ? 
Or is he a poor vassal born, 
Doom'd ill-requited toil to mourn, 

A slave by Heaven's decree ? 

Say, what has made your country great ? 
Was it your worthless lordling's state, 

His pride and pedigree ? 
Or was it those brave hardy men, 
Whose labour fertilize each plain, 

A virtuous peasantry? 

See yonder field of ripening grain, 
Above whose head a flowery train 

Of beauty sheds a shower ; 
But yon stern hind a lesson shews, 
He plucks and to his dunghill throws 

Each gaudy worthless flower. 



103 

In vain they to his eyes disclose 

Their splendid tints — their varied hues, — 

Pleading they adorn the plain ; 
Vain all your pleadings, he replies, 
Your useless glories I despise, 

You only spoil my grain ! 

But stop, my wild, rebellious muse, 
How dare a slave write truths like these, 

Comparing a lordling to a weed ; 
While you're, at best, of wood a hewer, 
And for their good a water-drawer, 

By God himself decreed ! 

For learn, ye snarling slave ! from the 
Submission due to the powers that be, 

That they are straight from God ; 
For can't you see, or can't you learn, 
To curb thy love of freedom, stern, 

You've surely felt the rod ! 

£ee yon, industrious, tiny nation, 
Labouring their winter's preparation, 

With well-contented hum ! 
In well-stock'd hive, lordlike reclining, 
Sipping the sweets of others' toiling, 

The aristocratic drone. 

Go learn from them, you grumbling knave 
That working bees were born to slave, 

And fructify the soil ; 
That princes are the Lord's anointed, 
And other two-legged drones appointed, 

To reap your arduous toil ! 



104 

Thy Bible's bright example scan, — 
See Daniel in the lion's den, 

By righteous king's decree ; . 
Who dared, forsooth, presumptuous man I 
To worship God on his own plan, 

Against the powers that be. * 

Behold the stubborn Hebrews, three, 
Who dared refuse to bend the knee, 

At Heaven's anointed's royal word, 
Though they the golden image saw, 
Regardless of their master's law, 

They did not fear their lord. 

Yet did He for them kindly feel, 
Although the rebels would not kneel 

When they the solemn music heard, 
Of hackbut, sounding loud and clear, 
And timbre], ringing in their ear ; 

Yet they the warning disregard, — 

Though they saw priests and men of might 
Example set to what was right, 

To please their heaven-anointed king ; — - 
But mark, the fiery furnace told 
A lesson to these rebels bold ; 

That disobedience is a dang'rous thing. 

18th June, 1841. 

* The preceding Verses were printed in the " Northern Star, 
July 24, 1841. 



105 



REMARKABLE SCENES FROM ARTHUR SEAT. 

Part II. 

You grumble at your fate ! How mild your doom 
To that which sent poor Naboth to the tomb ; 

As guiltless, too, as thee, thou knave ! 
He but refused — true, 'twas with ire, 
To grant his God-anointed king's desire, 

For which he rightly met an early grave. 

How happy for King Ahab, lucky man, 
That he'd a wife, a very clever woman, 

Whose soul with indignation fired, 
To think that e'en in Israel's favour'd land, 
One wretch was found that durst the king withstand, 

Refusing what her lord desired. 

But woman's wit can't be too highly prized, 
She form'd a clever plan, the rebel seiz'd, 

The ever pliant nobles lent their aid ; 
Hoodwink'd the people, soon a plot they hatch, 
A charge 'gainst Naboth of sedition patch, 

With sons of Belial him betray 'd. 

But grumbling knave be thankful for your doom, 
He met a grave ! you but a living tomb ; 

Your entrapment's much the same, 
The only difference that I well can find, 
With him two Belial's sons — the people blind, 

With you, by what I dare not name. 

f2 



106 

True there's a story in that self-same Bible, 
Which very few will dare to call a fable, 

Though 'tis a story one should scarcely tell, 
How that King Ahab, 'tis an ugly fact, 
Lost both his life and kingdom for the act, 

And dogs did eat the flesh of Jezebel. 

But come, good sirs, your strongest reasons bring, 
Since braving " powers that be" you name a sin, 

Nay blasphemy 'gainst God, no better ; 
Say, why did God the lions' nature stay ? 
Why wast not Daniel but his foes they slay ? 

And on them make a royal supper. 

Why did your God the laws of matter change, 
That through the fire his chosen servants range 

. Unscath'd, uninjured and unmoved ? 
And, too, withouten dread — withouten fear, 
A proof, a living proof, their God was near, 
And that he their disobedience loved. * 



* The ten following stanzas were prevented reaching Mr. Peddle 's 
mends in Edinburgh, by the interference of the Chaplain at Bever- 
ley, which led to the following letter, by Mr. P., to the Magis- 
trates : 

Gentlemen, — In the portion of these very unimportant verses, in 
which I have brought forward some few striking Scripture facts, I 
presume Mr. Hildyard, or anybody else, will scarcely say that the 
facts are either unfairly drawn or in themselves untrue ; and if not, 
it will surprise me to find a Christian minister objecting to what is 
scripturally true. The allusions to history, the murder of the Pro- 
testants in Paris, and the martyrdom of Wishart, — and the fact that 
the priests in France and St. Andrews did in their sermons tell the 
people that the Almighty approved the deeds, is but too notoriously 
true. 

I have in one verse said, what some may be disposed to dispute, 




107 

'Twas an ugly gift Ehud to Eglon offer'd, 

Come, my good sirs, and tell me why it prosper'd, 

Why God has not the crime decried, 
Why he pour'd not wrath on the traitor's head, 

Why it was not Ehud, but the tyrant, died, 
Not the rebel, but the prince, that bled ? 



that God's laws were broken to preserve the state, — and that 
priests approved of the circumstances by which God's laws were 
broken. My justification is, that the statement is true. Mr. 
Willie, one of yourselves, at the last interview I was honoured with, 
I recollect well, stated, that the Magistrates of Beverley must have 
facts on all occasions. They shall have two, out of many facts, truly 
disgraceful ones to the parties concerned. The law of God declares 
you shall do no murder, — nay, more pointed still, you shall not kill : 
the priests of the Church of England committed nine murders at 
Rathcormac. True, they may say they were legal murders ; but 
the law of God says " Thou shalt not kill," — making no exception 
in favour of legal murder. The law of God says " Thou shalt not 
bear false witness;" — four persons swore at my trial falsely against 
me, which I am prepared to prove, whether with the cognizance of 
their employers or not, and which may form one day, God willing, 
the subject of legal inquiry. But I think that no man will have the 
hardihood to deny that these facts are breaches of God's law ; and 
if they were not committed to preserve the state, Mr. Hiklyard will, 
I fear, have some difficulty in justifying the deeds. 

I have, in another pretty strongly expressed verse, said that state 
priests in every age, and of every denomination, preach submission 
to the powers that be. I conceive that no man in his senses will be 
fool enough to deny that fact ; they are the creatures of the state ; 
to preach obedience to it is their duty; no man of sense expects aught 
else at their hands, although until I came here, I, with every man 
in the empire of sense and intelligence, supposed the old unscriptural 
doctrine of the divine right of kings, non-resistance, and passive 
obedience, to be long ago exploded. It was with grief that I per- 
ceived a man, calling himself an ambassador of Christ, still preach- 
ing such absurdities ; and let me tell you, that it was such preaching 
that gave rise to the half-jesting verses to which Mr. Hiklyard ob- 
jects ; so that he has himself to blame, not me, for their production , 



108 

But really I must beg your Kev'rences' pardon, 
For I do not wish to press you hard on, — 

Or I might speak of many other things, 
Of Barak, — Jehu, who was anointed, 
And, by Elisha's express command, appointed 

To rebel against and kill his kings. 

But you shall have facts, gentlemen ; take the following expressions 
of the objector himself: " My brethren, you must return thanks to 
God for the blessing of an established church, for the book of Com- 
mon Prayer, for a regular clergy, for having been born in this coun- 
try — a country, notwithstanding all that wicked and bad men say 
to the contrary, is the happiest in the world, — in which the rights 
and property of the poor man are as well protected as those of the 
rich, — where the laws are open to all. You must also obey the 
powers that be, for they are all of God ; all orders and ranks and 
conditions of men are ordained of God : some are born to rule over 
us, and the rest born to obey. You must be contented in your 
situations ; behave yourselves humbly and reverently to your bet- 
ters ; be obedient to all in authority over you, — for although the 
conduct of those that God has set over us be not such as we would 
wish, yet it is the will of God that we should obey them, and if 
you disobey God, you will be punished in hell." These, gentlemen, 
will be amply sufficient to prove my verses correct ; but, if not, I 
can give you a deal more of even stronger sentences from the dis- 
courses of the objector ; and will remark in passing, that I received 
some of them as a most unmanly and unfeeling insult to myself, as 
well as scripturally unsound ; for if the doctrine here preached is 
true, Peter and James were very wicked men to tell the Jewish 
Sanhedrim that they would continue to preach, in defiance of the 
command of the constituted authorities, the gospel of Christ. And 
if Mr. Hildyard esteems himself a preacher of truth, it behoves him 
to explain the above facts, as well as those mentioned in my humble 
verses, so as to make them consistent with the above doctrines of 
his. If he cannot do so, he must not be angry with me if I do not 
esteem him a preacher of truth. The Word of God is ever consistent 
with itself ; it could net be true were it otherwise. Moreover, the 
reverend gentleman prays fervently for the Queen, styling her a 
chc-:.ea scrvaut of God; while, if his assertion be true, that the 



109 

And, Sirs, although your zeal for kings is fervent, 
Yet you'll allow Elisha was God's servant, — 

Read your Bibles, such I think you'll find ; 
And admit, too, else admit that Bible 
To be itself a cunningly devised fable, 

Design'd by knaves to cheat mankind. 

The Bees you often quote as an ensample, 

But, by your leave, good sirs, they're not fit example, 

For when within their well stock'd homes, 
Their wants upon their means begin to press, 
They take a plan you would not like, I guess, 

To save their " workies" they kill their drones. 

This shews their want of reason, I allow you, 
"Want of that golden image that we bow to, 

The want, too, of all dread of kingdom come ; 
Had they but you, good sirs, in lugs to thunder, 
That 'twas the will of God that drones should plunder, 

They'd starve their workies, but feed well their drones. 

How is't that Pagans, Turks, and Christians, 
Prelates, Papists, and all * * * 

Preach submission to " the powers that be ;" 
While about all other dogmas ye kick up a pother, 
And, in your holy zeal, do burn each other ? 

To keep the workies slaves, you all agree. 

powers that be must be obeyed, upon the pain of damnation, she 
must be an usurper, as her family acquired possession of the Biitish 
crown by resistance to the powers that were, — and an armed resist- 
ance too. But, to be serious, I am really surprised that either 
minister or magistrates should have considered such a trifle worth 
their notice ; surely Mr. Hildyard was that morning reading tha 
comedy of " Much ado about Nothing." 



no 

Do tell me, friends, for I'm of truth a lover, 
And fain would I that noble gem discover, 

In seeking it I've spent near forty years of life ; 
But all experience past, both sage and sound, 
Tells me on earth it rarely has been found, 

Save in the bosom of a virtuous wife. 

Are human blood-hound spies to be employ'd, 
Is human life or liberty destroy' d, 

A H offer murder'd, Peddie snared? then priests exult: 
Is Wishart doom'd to feel the tyrants' hate ? 
'Tis priests that bind the martyr to the stake, 

And with a demon's glee the dying man insult. 

Is St. Bartholomew's fell vigils nigh ? 
When twenty thousand human victims die ; 

Priests tell the people 'tis by God's commands : 
Are Freedom's sons hunted on Scotia's hills ? 
Their life's-blood mingling with their native rills ; 

'Tis priests that lead the tyrants' murdering bands. 

However base the deed, or black the act, 
State priests are tools the tyrants never lack, 

Aye ready to preach " 'Tis by God decreed ;" 
As was, alas ! too amply proved of late, 
When law was broken to preserve the state, 

The priest the first was to approve the deed. 

When he, who now in dungeon sings, was first immured. 
A priest into his breast this consolation pour'd ; 

" Friend, it's in vain for you to wrangle, 
They have their meshes firmly round you thrown, 
They will have victims to support the throne, 

So, at a rope's end, friend, I think you'll dangle." 



Ill 

'Tis true ! whether they plunge the sacrificial knife 
Into their trembling victim's seat of life, 

Or mumble masses in old crumbling Rome, 
Or wake the Druid's grove with victims' screams, 
Or ride the idol's car 'neath which the life's-blood streams, 

Or preach submission to some tyrant's throne. 

Yes ! state-priests, of every tongue and name, 
Are, in every age and clime, the same, 

Friends to tyrants — freedom's foes : 
" Submit ! it is your duty," each lordly prelate cries, 
" Submit ! for conscience sake," meek presbyter replies, 

Or plunge your souls in everlasting woes. 

Were even old Nick upon a throne, 
Though every christian heart did groan 

Beneath his hellish might, 
You'd hear them, duly as the Sunday's bell, 
Unblushing from their pulpits tell, 

Submission to him would be right. 

There was a time, at least I so have read, 

When Christ of his own Church was held the head, 

As he alone can change the human heart, 
Can bind the broken — make the wounded whole, 
And from corruption foul make clean the soul, 

From the awaken'd conscience pluck the dart. 

But this you know, you carping knaves, 
Would never grind the millions into slaves, 

Christ's gospel freedom is, and virtue join'd; 
The fear of hell, a noble scourge men find, 
To curb the workings of the public mind, 

And working millions to obedience bind, 



112 

So they've found out another holy trinity, 
A mitre, coronet, and crown, in unity, 

A good and powerful Juggernaut, 
The mighty pressure of whose pond'rous wheel. 
The working many pretty keenly feel, — 

Obedience forced down by the bayonet. 

There was a time when stood no Chartist knaves 
To tell our workies they should not be slaves, 

That all were equal in th' Almighty's sight. 
Our constitution then was held sublime, 
Kings' persons sacred, and their rights divine, 

When all our priests did say was held as right. 

O curse upon thee ! thou foul fiend Cromwell, 
That burst this charm that long did work so well, 

Held kings accountable — deed accurst; 
At which each Highland hill did quake and tremble, 
Each Scottish loch did roar and fiercely grumble, 

And kail-yard cabbages with grief did burst. 

Our very skies dissolved themselves in tears, 
Our kirk-folk fairly swore doomsday was near, 

But, most strange and wonderful to tell, 
No mighty arm was stretch'd the king to save, 
Earth open'd not her mouth to 'gulph the knave, 

Who still lived on most merrily and well 1 

There rose a nation, awful in its might, 
Defending Reason, common sense, and right ; 

A useful lesson to all kings was there, 
No more with dungeons, chains, and spies to stem 
The fast increasing intellectual stream, 

Lest they again became the powers that were I 



113 

Though men may tell ye, ye are things of worth, 
Nay, God's vicegerents still on earth, 

Take council, friends, and be ye wise in time, 
Ere the lion's skin be stript from off the ass, 
Ere glittering tinsel turn to worthless brass, 

Ere a sad change come o'er this dream of thine. 

I've seen the calm and peaceful rolling main, 
A bank of sand within its bounds retain ; 

I've seen it rise in its majestic fury, 
Lash'd into rage when wild tornados roar, 
Bursting each petty barrier from its shore, 

And 'neath its waters towns and cities bury. 

'Midst the Switz Alpine heights, not long ago, 
Neglected warnings brought them meikle wo ; 

A mountain lake, in icy fetters bound, 
One dreadful morn its frost-forged fetters broke ; 
The thoughtless Swiss astonish'd with the shock, 

Beheld sad ruin spreading far around. 

Even so, at best, the race of tyrants seem 
Like deaf men wading in a summer stream ; 

All heedless of the coming mountain wave, 
They do not hear its fast approaching roar, 
Heed not the friendly calls from either shore, 

But 'neath the swelling surges find a grave. 

So do the tyrants, in their foul career, 

Keep on their headlong course and madly steer 

The vessel of their state o'er seas of wo ; 
Their canvass fill'd with suffering patriots' groans, 
Their ears delighted with the heart-wrung moans 

That from their suffering souls in anguish flow. 



114 

Their anchor still the dungeon and the block, 
Chains their chief corner stone — torture the rock 

On which they lean, fearless of coming storm ; 
Disdaining orphan s sigh and widow's tear, 
Daring the God of vengeance to appear, 

Nor dreaming calm'd volcanos yet may burn. 

Tyrants, I would prefer the deadly block, 
The martyr's stake, or e'en the felon's rope, 

Than be the suffering abject thing I am ; 
My wasting frame with torture quivering, 
Each fibre with keen agony shivering, 

Death pray'd for, — yet, alas ! refused to come. 

Had I less fear'd my God, or fear'd ye more, 
I long ere this had reach'd another shore, 

Far from your ruthless savage tyranny ; 
Though my own hand the fatal deed had done, 
Though my own hand had deadly freedom won, 

From Whig-inflicted pain and agony. 

But, tyrants, learn with grief, that I still find 
The purest blessings of a guileless mind, 

E'en in that place ye meant to be my tomb, 
Though robb'd of all but innocence and heaven, 
And meant to be to death or madness driven, 

Yet God's approval gilds my dungeon's gloom. 

The sufT'rings I endure would stain the page, 
Of England's most rude and barbarous age, 

Her blackest, guiltiest, darkest time, 
"When Normandy robbers prowl'd for prey, 
Or the First Henry held his brutal sway, 

Steeping his demon soul in crime. 



115 

My sufFring soul is calm as the smooth lake, 
When not even a leaf moves on the brake, 

Serene as summer's mildest weather ; 
A peace of mind enjoy'd — a calm within — 
Can ne'er be known by you, ye men of sin, 

For guilt and peace dwell not together. 

Yes ! my sad soul has borne the shock, 
Of demon's vengeance, like that rock, 

Breasting the sea ; it rises brave, 
Rearing its crest majestic o'er the Forth, 
Frowning defiance to the stormy north, 

Laughing at the commotion of its wave. 

Yes, tyrants ! 'tis in your power to kill 
The body ; but in my soul ye never will 

Subdue the love of freedom fix'd and strong, 
That spirit pure and stern, by God, in love 
Implanted — heroic patriot breasts to move 

With love to men, and hatred for their wrong. 

Yes, Freedom, still to me you're bright, 
Pure, as when your inspiring light, 

First broke on my awakening mind ; 
When, wand'ring by my native streams, 
Ye rose in bright effulgent dreams, 

Instilling love to God and all mankind. 

Yes, love to thee, fair Freedom's so entwin'd 
With all the workings of my daring mind, 

Mingling with every thought, and every will, 
While life, and thought, and being last, 
Though now I feel the bitter blast, 

Of tyrants' rage, yet I despise them still. 



116 

Whether power a hundred millions grieves, 
Or reaches only a few helpless slaves, 

Who toil and groan beneath your petty rage, 
Ye're still in spirit and in heart the same, 
Mankind's greatest scourge and greatest shame, 

The foulest blot on history's honest page. 

But cease, my carping muse,, from this digression, 
In your allotted task make some progression, 

Else, sure you'll bring fresh vengeance on my head, 
Leaving unsung Dun Arthur's noble scenes, 
Spending your time on blackguard priests and kings, 

Pray leave them to the laureate — they're his bread. 

Leave all such petty themes, and henceforth sing 
Thy country's faded glory — forward bring 

Deeds more heroic, nobly dared and done ; 
Than e'er was sung by Grecian bard, 
Than e'er the noblest Roman dared, 

Fields for fair freedom fought, and nobly won. * 



* The author here apologises for breaking 5 " through, in this pla.ce, 
the orthodox rules of rhyming ; true, he could plead illustrious ex- 
amples for so doing ; but his reason was rather to write good sense 
than fine poetry. He intended to have made eonsiderable additions 
to the piece ; but since he left prison, he has been so much em- 
ployed in an endeavour to keep the flag of the people's charter float- 
ing on the breeze, in Scotland, that he has not found time to complete 
it. I may here state, that the conduct of Mr. P., since he left the 
jail, gives the he direct to those snarling vermin of the Scotch Whig 
press, who, to answer their own abominable purposes, point to the 
Chartist leaders as designing and interested men. TVliy, Mr. P. has 
laboured this last year as perhaps few men ever laboured in Scotland, 
and has not in all received £10 for his labours ; nay farther, Mr. P. 
has not, of public money, received, in all his life, in return for fifteen 
years'' labour, and three years' imprisonment, more than £ 25 ! 



117 

REMARKABLE SCENES FROM ARTHUR SEAT. 

Part III. 

Climbing high the arch of heaven, 
In all its morning glories risen, 

The sun holds his triumphant way, 
While clouds crowd round his chariot wheels, 
Like courtiers at a monarch's heels, 

Gathering their splendour from his ray. 

The moon, late mistress of the scene, 
Though beauteous still, now scarcely seen 

Amidst the blaze of light ; 
Yet scarce two hours have sped away 
Since her crescent horn and silver ray 

Drew the admiring sight. 

Thus, r youth and beauty I have seen 
Reign for a time the village queen, 

By all admired, by many courted ; 
Till some new beauty's brighter blaze 
Attract the crowd's admiring gaze, 

Then the former was neglected. 

The unobstructed eye may range 
From May's fair island to the Grange, 

And cull delight from town and tower ; 
Or scan fair Fife's indented shore, 
Or the grey heights of Lammermoor, 

As bees do honev from each flower. 



118 

Admiring, trace the Lothian coast, 
Of many a gallant heart the boast, 

And well that boast may be ; 
For many a gallant deed's been done, 
And many a well-fought battle won 

On Lothian's flowery lea. 

To the farthest verge of eastern sky 
I urge the pleasure-seeking eye 

Across the banks of Tyne, 
To the rude rocks of rough Dunbar, 
Where England urged unseemly war 

With Agnes dark, of Randolph's line. 

Though black by name, yet brave by heart, 
This lady play'd the hero's part, 

When war did threat'ning lower ; 
She England's bravest troops withstood, 
Their boasting valour quench' d in blood, 

Defied their utmost power. 

Her gates of brass are worn away, 

Her walls of strength have known decay ; 

Fled warden now and seneschal ; 
Of her strong towers and donjon-keep, 
That long frown'd proudly o'er the deep, 

There's but the fragment of a wall. 

Now in these courts, where heros strode, 
The reptile fixes her abode, 

And in the morning beams, 
Where hung Dunbar's proud banner brave, 
Triumphing o'er the subject wave, 

The whirring sea-bird screams. 



119 

And now the vulture makes her nest, 
"Where Beauty laid her limbs to rest, 

Upon that rank uneven green, 
Once lordly courts, where pranced the steed 
Of warriors by their chieftains led, 

The fisher's loitering form is seen. 

Where now Tantallon's halls of pride ? 
Where beauty, valour, side by side, 

Join d in the pompous revelry ; — 
When Douglas bade his minstrel play, 
Or led the dance's merry way, 

In all the pride of chivalry. 

Douglas ! though ruin'd are thy walls, 
And desolate thy ancest'ral halls, 

Nor at the bugle's sound, 
Starting from border, hill, and glen, 
A thousand stalwart, well-arm'd men, 

At thy proud nod are found. 

Thy honour'd name in Scottish story, 
Lived long in fair unrivall'd glory; 

A thousand years the bleeding heart, 
Like Llope's star shone upon our strand, 
The pride and guardian of our land, 

Thou acted long the patriot's part. 

But now that honour'd name of thine, 
No more can boast a stainless line, 

Pure as the mountain heath ; 
Each Scotsman's cheek to crimson turns, 
Each Scottish heart indignant burns, 

When named is false Monteith ! 



120 

But now, alas ! there is another, 
In infamy his very brother, 

"Who shares with him the traitor's name, 
A bastard scion of your race, 
His kindred's shame — his name's disgrace, 

The traitor-coward of Birmingham. 

Now up the Firth my vision wends, 
To distant Ochil's western bends, 

And leaves the blooming east, 
'Midst beauties strew'd on every hand 
Throughout this spreading fairy land, 

It scarce knows where to rest. 

The mist still clothes the Ochils' side, 
Still fondly hangs o'er Fortha's tide, 

Shrouding, in vapoury gloom, 
Stirling's time-honour'd hoary head, 
Then to the pastoral Pentlands spread, 

Hides hamlet, park, and town. 

Feeling the sun's encroaching ray, 
Yielding unto the warmer day, 

Still loth to leave the purple hill, 
Draws o'er the carse its closer vest, 
Sits still more close to Fortha's breast, 

And fain would linger still. 

Like some fond bridegroom by the side 
Of her, who late was made his bride, 

When duty calls away, 
Just turns to take one parting kiss, 
Returns for yet one more embrace, 

Then tears himself away. 



121 

Or like the exile, doom'd to roam 
Far distant lands, in search of home, 

When to his friends he bids farewell; 
Parted — yet seeks his heart's best brother, 
For one endearing clasp — another — 

And still with him would lingering dwell. 

Or in human shambles, where, I ween, 
The mother and the child are seen, 

Barter'd to different monsters there, 
Holds to her breast in parting clasp 
Her babe, and turns for one more grasp 

In all the wildness of despair. 

Till rising fast from bank and brae, 
The mist holds its reluctant way, 

No more its cloudy empire holding, 
Now Pentlands' sloping sides so green, 
And Stirling's rampart heights are seen, 

Fresh beauties evermore unfolding. 

And such a land is now display'd, 
As might (but man forbids) be made 

To bloom like Eden fair ; 
But, ah ! an upas tree is growing, 
Heaven's choicest gifts destroying, 

Tyrant and slave are there. 



122 



THE POACHER'S WIFE AND THE PRIEST. 



A TALE OF FACTS. 



[In the letter from Beverley enclosing these stanzas, Mr. Peddie 
writes: — I. send you the following dialogue between a Scotchwoman 
and her priest. If it is not good, it has at least amused some weary 
hours j and, at all events, possesses one merit, of being positively 
true. All the absurd nonsense I have put into the mouth of the 
parson, I heard repeated by a state-priest, with my own ears. In 
charity, I hope he is not a fair sample of the state clergy in general. 
He is really one, of whom it may be truly said, what Pope said of 
Orator Henley : 

" Well worthy he of Egypt's blest abodes, 

A decent priest, where monkeys are the gods !" 



" Oh ! dinna greet, my bairnies three, 
Ye ken I hinna bread to gie ye, 

My heart is like to burst; 
The saut tear stands in my ain e'e, 
My bairnies wasting forms to see, 

That erst were kindly nurst. 

" I toil me late — I toil me air — 
I labour hard- — I labour sair, 

In hopes your bread to win ; 
Yon orb of day ne'er sees ,me rest, 
Frae his first glancing in the east, 

Until his race has run. 



123 

<e The parish priest was here to day, 
And Oh ! my bairns, ye heard him say 

Our sufferings were maist just ; 
That a' our woe was caused by sin, 
Your father did our ruin bring 

By an action most accurst. 

" I could mysel' hae borne the blame, 
But when I heard your father's name 

Join'd to a deed of guilt, 
I told him Joe was wrongly torn 
From me, and each poor helpless bairn ; 

Indeed, I angry felt. 

" My husband's name had ne'er been stain'd 
By crime ; his actions never blamed 

By the thinking and the good ; 
His eident toil our wants supplied, 
Aye after work he homeward hied, 

In cheerful, canty mood. 

" That he paid cash for all he wore, 
For meat and drink ne'er ran a score, 

As debt was aye his dread; 
When my poor dad could work nae mair, 
(Wha dreaded aye the poor-house sair,) 

He labour d for his bread. 

" Though sma his means, the stranger poor 
Was ne'er sent hungry frae his door; 

What Heaven to him had lent, 
He freely shared with those in need, 
For to do good, we both agreed, 

Frail man to earth was sent. 



124 

" To wife and bairns lie aye was kind, 
In virtue strong, and pure of mind, 

He is a man of prayer ;" 
" All that, says nought," the priest replies, 
" All that means nothing," still he cries, 

" Your husband snared a hare ! 

" And it was a most righteous doom 
Consign'd him to the dungeon's gloom, 

The wicked man of sin ; 
He boldly dared deny the fact, 
Though by our 'squire caught in the act, 

Ins hand the hare and gin ! 

" And what was worse, aye much w T orse still. 
He boldly said he'd done no ill, 

Though he had kill'd a hare ; 
They've sent him off to the tread-mill, 
Where they'll subdue his stubborn will, 

He'll not lon<? aro-ue there. 

o o 

" Yes ! there he'll learn all must obey, 
As long as they in Britain stay, 

Our gracious sovereign's law ; 
Laws, all acknowledg'd, good and mild, 
Protects the helpless, curbs the wild, 

The best the world e'er saw. 

" In vain you say he ne'er was blamed, 
That with no crime his name was stain'd, 

Of being a man of prayer, 
And gave his goods to feed the poor, 
Who ne'er went hungry from his door, 

The rascal's killed a hare ! 



125 

" What though he was of virtuous mind, 
In home affectionate and kind, 

These but small goodness share ; 
Or kept your father, frail and old, 
Aye sheltering him from poortith cold, 

The scoundrel kill'd a hare !" 

" I grant the fatal snare I placed, 
Where every flower our garden graced, 

And useful root and plant, 
By worthless game was trodden down, 
Annoying us, and the hale town, 

Bringing our bairns to want !" 

" So pled your husband at his trial, 
But no such plea with us avail, 

He own'd he set the gin, 
And well he knew our laws declare 
Its a great crime to kill a hare ! 

For working folk like him. 

" Besides, the rascal argued sair, 
He'd as much right to kill a hare 

As either 'squire or lord, 
And yet you say he read his Bible, 
Believing it to be no fable, 

But the true Word of God ! 

" Know, woman know, that such as thee 
Submission owe to powers that be, 

Whose birthright is of God ; 
And you're forbid to kill a hare, 
And if you don't from that forbear, 

Then you must feel the rod ! 



126 

" But though we're just, we mercy find, 
To you I'm sure we're very kind, 

The session sent me here 
To save your wandering, help to seek, 
They've voted you ninepence a week, 

Though Joe did kill the hare ! 

" I'll hope you'll better manners learn, 
With honest work your bread to earn, 

And due submission shew 
Unto the laws ; leaving all hares 
To lords and squires, since game is theirs, 
r feel severer woe.'* 

" Go, sir, and rail no longer here, 
Profane no more the coat ye wear, 

My mind ye seek to ken : 
Do ye believe the things ye teach ? 
Do ye believe the words ye preach ? 

Ye tool of tyrant men. 

" You stole my husband, now ye'd give 
Ninepence a week that we might live, 

Truly you're mighty good ! 
Sir, I dispense both it and thee, 
I'd sooner lay me dow r n and dee 

Than take such price of blood. 

" I'll work the flesh frae aff my banes 
For these three helpless, hungry weans, 

Labour of love 'twill be ; 
I'd sooner see them in their grave, 
And yon rank grass out o'er them wave* 

Than take from such as thee L" 



127 

" He who did bless the barrel and cruise 
With meal and oil, will ne'er refuse 

To hear our wail and cry : 
Yes ! God of heaven will deign to hear ; 
Our earnest cry and fervent prayer 

Will yet be heard on high. 

" Unfeeling priest ! ye fain would bind 
In chains of ignorance the mind, 

Our souls you'd fetter down 
In darkest gloom, in blackest night, 
Far from that mind- informing light 

The Gospel sheds aroun'. 

" From thy cruel tongue no accents flow 
To heal our sorrow, soothe our woe, 

Thy words do yield no balm ; 
Ye pour no gospel wine and oil, 
With peace our wounded breasts to fill, 

And resignation's calm. 

" Nothing but due submission shew, 
Submit, submit, submissive bow 

To us, the powers that be ; 
As if the only road to heaven 
Was in submitting to be driven 

To want and misery ! 

Sir, there's my Bible ! shew me where, 
By deed of gift to lord or 'squire, 

The lord of all hath given ; 
Of every beast that roams the field, 
To all the earth, or water yield, 

Your charter shew from heaven. 



128 

" Read in Isaiah, tenth and first, 
Of each oppressor doom'd accurst, 

By him who made the world ; 
Who make the helpless poor their prey, 
Will be by him, on his great day, 

To dread perdition hurled ! 

" And in Ezekiel," — " Whisht, whisht woman I 
Dare ye quote scripture to your piiest, 

And him by law ordain' d, 
To instruct, and give such folk as you, — 
Remember what I tell, is true, 

Your betters must not be blamed. 

" God ! we're near to ruin's brink, 
Our working folk have learn'd to think, 

To think and argue too ; 
Dare even to reason with their priest, 
And treat them like their common guest, 

Astonishing, but true !" 

From this bad man no council came, 
But such as seem'd God to blaspheme, 

No wise instruction given ; 
He told not that affliction's rod 
Is sent to force the heart to God, 

The wandering soul to heaven. 

" But dinna greet, my bairnies three, 
For, ah ! I hae nae bread to gie, 

Yet, by God's will, the morn 
I'll beg for leave to toil for thee, 
That I may get some bread to ye, — 

Now, bairnies dinna mourn !" 



129 



THE CAPTIVE. 

'Twas on the lovely banks of Euphrates' lordly flood, 
His back leant to a sycamore, a Hebrew captive stood ; 
Behind him Babylon's mighty towers ascending up on 

high, 
Around him native forests wave — above the clear blue 

sky; 
To form an earthly paradise, Nature with Art had join'd 
But nought to him could joy impart or soothe his captive 

mind : 
His eye fix'd on the dark blue wave that roll'd by to the 

sea, 
His thoughts were wandering far away to his loved 

Galilee. 

And near him, on the flowery sward, a beauteous sight 

was seen, 
A group of Chaldee's daughters fair were skipping on the 

green ; 
Their music wild, their faces fair, an anchorite might 

charm, 
Or pluck revenge from passion's breast, or fiercest wrath 

disarm ; 
But not for all your dazzling charms, though beauteous 

they may be, 
Has he a single passing thought — has he a sigh for thee : 
His eye is on the deep dark wave that rolls on to the 

sea, 
His thoughts are wandering far away — they are in 

Galilee. g 2 



130 



VERSES. 



[Written during the third year of Mr. P.'s imprisonment.! 



Oh ! for the broomy knowes, 

For Scotland's heath-clad hills, 
For the cozie glen, where in childhood I play'cl, 

For the mountain's murmuring rills. 

Oh ! for the fertile plains 

"Where plenty might ever reign ; 
"Where a rich reward for labour's pains,. 

The God of plenty deigns^ 

Oh ! for the wide-spread moors ; 

Oh ! for the craggy steeps ; 
Oh ! for the snaw-clad mountains again, 

Where the gyre-eagle widely sweeps. 

When climbing their rocky sides, 

In days, alas ! now gone, 
Ah ! little did I dream that a dungeon then 

Should my living grave become* 

Or that my free-born limbs,. 

While life in this breast remains, 
Should e'er be denied on those wilds to roam ? 

Or be held by a tyrant's chain _ 



131 

Oh ! for the noisy Him, 

The saugh and the waving woods, 
The gentle sighing of the summer's stream, 

The roar of the winter floods. 

Oh ! for the honey-bee's hum, 

The lintie's lays of love, 
The matin-song of the joyous lark, 

The music of the grove. 

But these are sounds that ne'er 

Are heard in this dreary abode, 
Where the sound of the human voice is crime, 

Although in the worship of God ! 

No airy minstrel now 

Spreads for me the whirring wing ; 
No amorous cushat 'wakes the grove, 

Or cuckoo greets the spring. 

The sound that greets mine ear 

Is the doleful clank of chains ; 
Save when suffering nature's groans, I hear 

The wail of sorrows and pains. 

Oh ! for that maiden fair, 

The loved Genius of Clutha's glen, 
Whose love-laughing eye and winning smile 

I ne'er may see again. 

Oh ! for her melting lays, — 

Those dear strains of other years, — 

The dreams of which still float o'er my souX 
Like music of distant spheres^ 



132 

Mournful yet pleasing still, 

Though but ghosts of joys long fled, 

That cling to my heart when no sounds of joy 
Break this death-like solitude. 

A fragrance lingering behind, 

Though the flower be wither d away ; 

A vine still embracing the sapless oak, 
Though its trunk acknowledge decay. 

No more the cheering smile 

And fond glance of woman's eye, 
That lightens labour, that gladdens toil, 

"Will kindly glance on me. 

Oh ! for that glorious sun 

I've oft watch'd the lee-lang day, 
Till enraptured I've seen the mountain-heath 

Tinged with gold by his setting ray. 

Hours ere the sun's first beam 

The slave to his task is driven 
By the lash of his tyrant to toil each sad day, 

Robb'd of all but hopes of Heaven. 

Hours he's sunk in the west 

Ere freed from toil is the slave, — 

When, like the ox, he is driven to his rest 
In his cell — his living grave. 

Oh ! for the clear blue sky, 

For the fair moon's sober ray, — 
Like some wand'ring spirit of light, thro' heav'n 

Holding its trackless way. 



133 

No more for me her beams 

Play on streamlet or gowany brae, 

Or throw o'er Craigmillar s* ruin'd wa 
Her mantle o' silver gray. 

Oh ! for yon starry host, 

Those orbs of living light, 
"Who, though dumb, yet with, eloquence declare 

Their Maker's power and might. 

To view God's works on high, 

Is joy too great for me, 
Who has dared to commit the damning sin 

Of wishing mankind free ! 

Yet still there's one little star, 

As constant as 'tis bright, 
Though kept by my tyrants from me afar, 

That cheers my heart with its light. 

Nor yet my fate's dark gloom, 

Nor woes without a name, 
Nor chains, nor dungeon, nor tyrant's hate 

Can quench its enduring flame. 

Long has that star of peace 

Shone clear on my troubled Avay, 
Still rising in brightness as sorrows increase, 

Woman's love, that knows no decay. 



* Craigmillar, near Edinburgh, at one time a royal residence, 
occupied by the unfortunate Mary Queen of Scotland, — now in 



134 

Oh ! for the glimmering beam, 

(Fain would tyrants quench the ray) 
Of that star that arose o'er Bannock's stream 

In triumph in Bruce's day. 

That bright o'er Marathon blazed, 

That burn'd in the soul of Tell, 
Though it quench'd for a time its light in amaze, 

As the gallant Kosciusko fell. 

That was despots' triumph-hour, 

"When Freedom before them bovv'd, 
When on Prague's proud arch and Warsaw's tower 

The fires of ruin glow'd. 

Then murder bared her steel 

And hell threw ope her gate, 
That her twin-born fiends might attend his heel, — 

Priests' revenge and kingly hate. 

Then kings and priests rejoiced, 

And sang a Te Deum to their God, 
In rapt exultation o'er Freedom destroy'd, 

O'er a world subject to their rod. 

Oh ! dear to despot's ear 

Is the ravaged maiden's scream, 
The groans of the dying with rapture they hear, 

And dear is the blood-stain'd stream. 

No charms has Nature for them, 

No beauty the clear blue wave, [[plain. 

Save when corpse of their victims are strew'd on her 

Or red with the blood of the brave^ 



135 

My mind's creative power 

Anticipates future scenes, 
Whose shadows now live in my fancy's eye, 

In bright prophetic dreams. 

The lily of France will bud 

And tri-colour'd blossoms shall yield, ^blood, 

When the throne of the Bourbon, now swimming in 

No longer prove tyranny's shield. 

Italy shall wake from her sleep, — 

Hispaniola shall spurn with disdain 
The arts of her priesthood, — nor Hibernia weep 

O'er her rag?, all torn with her chain. 

When Freedom's clarion voice 

Shall rouse each slumbering slave 
From the priest-form'd nightmare of folly and vice, 

A sleep more dread than the grave. 

Oh ! for that coming day, 

That patriot prayed-for time, 
When the human fam'ly, with one strong bound, 

Will these fetters burst in twain. 

Truth on the human mind, 

Like the sun's first beam on the deep, 
Yet bursting the cearments of chaotic gloom, 

Shall arouse it from ages of sleep. 

When those conjuring toys, 

Those dazzling but worthless things, 
With which mankind's foes have the human mind 

Long kept in leading-strings, 



136 

When crosiers and mitres shall 

(Instruments of human woe) 
With sceptres and crowns he in museums kept, 

Like other rare things, for shew. 

Bauhles that please but fools, 

Though lying priests say they're divine, 

For which mankind's foes have fill'd the whole earth 
With slaughter, blood, and crime. 

Light but the torch of truth, 

The reign of deception is past ; 
Grasp but the mummy with the living hand, 

It crumbles to shapeless dust. 

Oh ! for those spirits of yore 

Who hell's worst malice withstood, 
When the destroying scourge of a bigot's rage 

Swept o'er our plains like a flood. 

Who, defending the rights of man, 
Fear d neither danger nor death ; 
Who could worship their God and defiance hurl 
At tyrants with their dying breath. 

Oh ! for those peasant bands 

That quail'd not at the tyrants' frown, 

Who, sublimely brave, stood arm'd for might, 
Till they pluck'd from his brow the crown. 

Awake ! ye men of blood, 

From fancied safety's dream, 
Ere the dungeon's ye've fill'd, and the blood spill'd, 

Give the red sword of vengeance to gleam. 



137 



IRREGULAR VERSES. 



Air — " Floivers o' the Forest." 



Near by the infant Clutha* 
The Genius of Scotia 
Stood mourning — dejected, dowie, and wae. 

Upon a broomy knowe had fa'en 
The spear frae out her nerveless han — 
The lustre o' her far-famed shield seem'd hast'ning to 
decay. 

Tears in her bonny e'e were seen, 
She'd thrown away her tartan sheen, 
Sighs rent her bosom fair, ance happy and gay. 

And in strains of melting pity, 
She sung this mournful ditty, — 
" The Flowers o' the Forest are a' wede away. 

" The sun in the morning 
The hills is still adorning, 
And Nature, rejoicing, hails each new-born day ; 



The source of the Clyde. 



138 

" The flowers still are swinging, 
The birds still are singing, 
And ilk thing around me but mankind is gay. 

" Still yonder sun's fair beam 
Glistens sweet on Tweed's clear stream, — 
The Ettrick and Yarrow still roll on their way. 

" Yes, there's each hill and glen, 
I miss nae thing but brave men, 
My sons of the Border, — Alas, where are they ? 

" Where are noo those sturdy arms 
That shielded frae scaith and harms 
The maidens o' Scotia, ance bonny, blythe, and gay ? 

" Where noo the slogan cry 
That mony a day did rend the sky 
When the Southron tyrant did his banner display'? 

" Where noo those hardy sons of yore 
That my bloody lion* bore 
Nobly triumphant in mony bloody fray ? 

" Those flowers o' the forest 
That aye stood the foremost, — 
The sternest, the bravest, in Freedom's array. 

" Where noo the Clachan's green, 
Where mony a manly sport I've seen, 
When younker met younker in mimic battle-fray ? 



* The national banner of Scotland bears a bloody lion. 



139 

" Learning war s stalwart art. 
When lo'e o' country fill'd each heart, 
That made them sae dreaded aye in battle's bloody day. 



" There's nae joy by the fountain, 
Nae pleasure on the mountain, 
The right, the mirth their fathers' knew, are far, far away. 



" There's noo no a joy on earth, 
Gladdens up the peasant's hearth, — 
The mirth, the glee of other years, alas ! hae passed away. 

" When eild * forgot its sadness 
Mingling wi' youthful gladness ; 
Delightedly list'ning to the wand'ring minstrel's lay. 

" There's noo nae cheering smile 
At ev'ning to reward their toil, 
And mak' them forget a' the woes o' the day. 

" There's noo nae cleanly board 
Wi' peace and plenty stored 
Surrounded wi' bairnies contented and gay. 

" Hope nae mair is smiling, 
Their labour buguiling — 
Life's ilka pleasure frae them is stown away. 

" There's nae pleasure for the slave ; 
Nae rest for him but in the grave ; 
Nae hope, but of mingling wi' his fathers' clay. 



* Old age. 






140 

" His spirit sad is broken, 
Even hope has him forsaken, 
The love o' freedom's sei' frae him is fled away. 

" ! wo betide their base black heart, 
My curse upon their villain's art 
That's wrought in poor Scotland such sorrow and wae. 

" My sons, alas ! ance Nature's braves, 
Are now but mean and crouching slaves, — 
The flowers o' my forest, alas ! are wede away." 

Thus the mourning spirit sung, 
Her strains o' wae my bosom wrung 
WT grief mair keen than e'er did flow from any mortal 
lay. 

When, in a twinkling, changed her mien, 
She dash'd the saut tear frae her een, 
And sorrow and sighing seem'd frae her to flee away. 

Upon her fair and lofty brow 
She raised again her bonnet blue, 
And o'er her buirdly shoulders threw once more her 
tartan plaid. 

Stretching out her resolved hand, 
She grasp'd anew her battle brand; 
Wi' returning energy her beauteous bosom heaved. 

She chano;ed her notes o' dool and wae 

o 

To a strain baith blythe and gay, 
That waked with thrilling ecstasy the hills and dells 
around, — 



141 

That fell with rapture on mine ear ; — 
So rapt was I, I scarce could hear, 
But catch'd that man would yet be free, through a the 
world's wide bound. 

" Freedom's day is drawing near, 
Even now her cheering voice I hear, 
And gladly I welcome her glorious dawning ray, — 

" Dispelling, with its heavenly light, 
Error s dark and dismal night, 
And opening on the mind o' man a new and happy 
day. 

" Learn, ye worthless sons of earth, 
That Freedom is of heavenly birth, 
And cannot be suppress'd by ye, tyrants though ye be ! 

" Yain all the malice of your hearts, 
And vainer still your villain's arts, 
Nature herself has sternly sworn, that mankind shall be 
free ! 

" Tremble, ye tyrants, at the rod, 
The wrath of an avenging God, 
Nor dream that ye 11 escape dread retribution's day !" 

Thus sung the heavenly vision bright, 
And vanish'd from my raptur'd sight, 
Mixing wi' the rainbow's beam, she melted away. 



142 



SONG. 



Air — " The Carse o" 1 Gowne." 

Come, my stately English lass,' 
Will ye the Scottish Border pass, 
The Solway's dangerous tide to cross 
Wi' me^ to poor auld Scotland ? 

And will ye gie to me your hand, 
Nor grieve to leave your father-land, 
To dwell on the rough rugged strand 
Of poor auld cauldrife Scotland ? 

Where on the tap of Cairngorum, 
High above the tempest bourne 
Enthroned, the spirit o' the storm 
Laughs fierce and wild in Scotland. 

He bids the snaw swell'd torrent rin, 
That gies to roar the foaming linn ; 
He revels in the tempest's din 
As it blaws loud in Scotland. 

And will ye leave the village green, » 
Where lang ye shone the pride and queen 
To lighten with your glancing Gen 
My dreary home in Scotland ? 



143 

And will ye leave these fertile plains, 
Rich wi' the yellow waving grain, 
Nor grieve for England's jocund swains, 
When ye're afar in Scotland ? 

We there can boast no vocal grove, 
Where Philomela sings her love, 
But the gyre-eagle soars above 
The rough rude rocks o' Scotland. 

And in our dark sequester' d glen 
The browny and the bogle's seen, 
Witches too, and warlock men, 
Play unco pranks in Scotland. 

But, still,' my lassie, fear nae wrang 
These wild romantic glens amang,* 
Where Fingal fought, and Ossian sang 
His living lays in Scotland. 

'Tis such wild scenes that doth inspire 
The Muses' sons wi' heavenly fire, 
That gars them wake the tuneful lyre 
Wi' deathless strains in Scotland. 

And reveling there thy bonny een, 
The tiny dew drap's fairy sheen 
Glittering in the morning's beam 
On the heather bells in Scotland. 

And wi' the earliest peep o' dawn 
The wild doe and the speckled fawn, 
And antler'd roe-buck, gallant ban,' 
Sport o'er the moors in Scotland. 



144 

There's music in our mountain stream, 
Where oft the craig's rude shadow's seen, 
There's music in the eagle's scream, 
Soaring wild in Scotland. 

There rapture felt by trusting maid 
When row'd within her lovers plaid, 
She clings her to his manly side 
Amang the pines in Scotland. 

Or cozie 'mang the birken shaw, 
She hears the summer breezes blaw, 
She envies then nae lovers braw, 
That court the dames in England. 

She kens her lover's true and leal, 
Likes but hersel,' and likes her weel, 
And that his arm can guard frae ill 
The lass he lo'es in Scotland. 

We ken nought o' the smooth-tongued arts, 
So common in these south'ron parts, 
Oft used to break the fondest hearts, 
Wi' villain's guile, in England. 

We downa flatter to deceive, 
We downa ruin but to leave, 
We ne'er the trusting bosom grieve, 
That lo'es us true in Scotland. 

Oh ! no, we're far beyond the reach 
O' those vile arts j'our courtiers teach, 
We're rude in manners, rough in speech, 
But free frae guile in Scotland. 



145 

Nor boast we daisy spangled lawns 
Before our door, whare, hat in han, 
A livery'd crew does servile fawn 
On pamper'd pride in England. 

Nae palace rears its haughty head 
Wi' us, to shame the humble shed 
Whare honest toil must mak' its bed, 
And skulk a slave, in England. 

Our peasant wraps him in his plaid, 
Hangs at his belt his weel tried blade, 
And roams a freeman through the glade 
And heathery hills in Scotland. 

Free as the wind upon his hill, 
Unfetter d as his mountain-rill, 
Wi' nae control save his free will, — 
We brook nae slaves in Scotland ! 

Then come, my lassie, will ye gang 
Wi' me the Highland hills amang ; 
There's my han ye'll meet nae wrang 
Frae Freedom's sons, in Scotland. 



146 



VERSES WRITTEN IN PRISON. 



[The following rhapsody was written when Mr. P. was smarting 
under one of those acts of petty tyranny, by which he was so cruelly 
annoyed. The Magistrates had prevented three or four of his letters 
leaving prison, because they contained some act of his treatment 
which these worthies wished to keep the public ignorant of.] 



Though bolts of steel my poor limbs bind, 
Though I'm chain' d on misery's brink, 

A greater power ye wish to find, — 
To crush my liberty to think. 

But vain shall prove your mad effort, 
As trying to clutch the rainbow sheen, 

Or add, by kuihan means or art, 
Fresh radiance to the solar beam. 

When Arabia's sandy desert 

Blooms, a rich and fertile plain ; 

When the wild wolf, in the forest, 
In peace lays with the lamb again ; 

When your voice is heard in death's domain ; 

When the fest'ring dead that voice obey, 
And each obedient sprit again 

Reanimates its loathsome clay. 

When from Sinai's sacred mountain 

Ye in a voice of thunder speak, 
And creation's countless millions 

There lie trembling at your feet : 



147 

When ye can roll up as a scroll, 
Yon outstretch'd sky of azure blue ; 

When the planets, as they roll, 
Own their obedience due to you : 

When ye the wild whirlwind can chain, 
Or do ride the stormy blast ; 

Or can still the troubled main, 
Or the thunder-bolt can grasp : 

When God from off his throne is hurl'd, 
The sceptre wrested from his hand, 

When each of yonder blazing worlds 
Quenches its fire at your command : 

Then, ye tyrants, I'll obey you ; 

Then to thee I'll bend the knee ; 
Then I'll kiss the hand that smites me, 

Most unjustly though it be. 

Then from my breast, its only treasure, 
The love that I to Freedom bear, 

Which in your dungeon's still a treasure, 
From my bosom I shall tear. 

Then I'll forget, if that may be, 
That I've been created man, 

With mind imbued, with soul still free, 
Its Maker s mighty works to scan. 

Then I'll forget to all the past, 
The future on my soul shall beam 

No ray of hope, — and thought, at best, 
I'll but account an idle dream. 



148 

Then I'll forget God's moral image 
E'er was stamp' d on sons of men, 

Who, though enslaved, yet boast a lineage 
From a Power 'yond human ken. 

Then I'll believe a God of Mercy, 
Full of wisdom, power, and grace ; 

Tyrants, I'll believe that God ordainM ye 
Masters of the human race ! 

Then I'll forget my heart's best treasure, 

All I dearly love on earth ; 
My home, and all those social pleasures 

Which to me gave life its worth. 

Where nights of peace and days of gladness 
Pass'd with heartfelt mirth and glee ; 

Now day's of toil and nights of sadness 
From curs'd oppression I maun dree. 

Then I'll forget I have a daughter 
Unprotected, young, and fair, — 

Or that with hell's black arts ye robb'd her 
Of a father's watchful care. 

And those parents — old, forlorn, — 

Diseased and sinking to the grave, — - 
Deprived of my supporting arm, 

While here I am your injured slave- 
Then I'll forget the one I love, 

Whose heart still fondly beats to mine, — 
Whose love my breast yet proudly moves, 

And round my very heart-strings twine. 



149 

Then I'll forget, but 'twill be when 

My heart from out my breast ye tear, — 

Though, should ye do so, even then 
You'll find her image graven there. 

Then I'll forget that bloodhounds base, 
Tools of demons worse than they, 

By arts that Judas would disgrace, 
Lured me, guiltless, for their prey. 

Then I'll forget the heart-wrung anguish 
That from my breast unceasing flows, 

And that I in your dungeons languish — 
A child of misery and woes. 

By tyrants placed upon a level 

With the beasts that roam the field ; 

Such treatment, in its dreadful sequel, 
Often death or madness yield. 

Then I'll forget mine ears have listen'd 
To the prison'd maniac's scream ; 

The poor thief's dying groans I'll count then 
The product of some fever'd dream. 

Then I'll forget that I have borne 
The felon or the murderer's chain, 

And insults many, that well might turn 
To madness the excited brain. 

Then I'll forget, within this dreary cell, 
To Nature's God to bend my humble knee 

And, lastly, what will please you well, 
Forget myself and bend to thee ! 

h2 



250 



SUMMER'S SYNE NO FAR AWA' 



[" What gave rise to the following trifle," Mr. P. observes, " was 
from reading in the last Part, of Chambers' Journal, a few days ago y 
a poem termed ' Winter's no that far awa' !' introduced as a pro- 
duction of merit by the editor. I thought the day was past for 
such trifles passing for good poetry ; but the rhyme pleased me ; so 
my muse, in the course of half an hour, or thereabout, produced 
this. The original was said to be written by a self-taught genius, 
under all the concomitant evils attendant on poverty, but in regard 
to depressing circumstances, I think I have not been surpassed. — 
Mine was composed when I was walking in the prison- yard, in a 
round ring, with some scores of thieves, and a wmckle idle ehield in 
the midst of them, to keep the rascals from speaking to, or looking 
at, each other. Let Mr. Chambers' poet beat this, if he can."] 



When the sun clips short the gloamin', 
And on the hill-side melts the snaw, 

When younkers through the glens are roam in . 
Summers syne no far awa'. 

When, to the joy o' ilka miller, 

Their dams do feel the loos' ning thaw, 

And their clappers win them siller, 
Summer's syne no far awa'. 

When nae mair, rouDd farmer's ingle* 

Lads and lasses merrily ca', 
Jests wi' merry saugs to mingle, — 

Summer's then no far awa'- 



151 

When nae mair bauld Boreas storming 
Threats to gie's a roofless ha', 

And noisy linns gie o'er their foamin', 
Summer's syne no far awa\ 

"When tod lowrie leaves the plantin', 
Shunning far the farmer's ha', 

Flying to the distant mountain, 
Summer's syne no far awa'. 

When the robin leaves the biggin, 
The merlin leaves the ruin'd wa, 

And sparrows build within the riggin', 
Summer's syne no far awa'. 

When clear and pure, wi' gentle motion, 
Burnies rin, and the sea-maw 

Leaves the fresh loch for the ocean, 
Summer's then no far awa. 

When the trees put on new cleadin', 
And round them whirrs the noisy craw. 

When ewes upon the heights are bleatin', 
Summer's syne no far awa'. 

When amang the woody breckan 

Nae mair ye hear the woodcock's caw, 

But mavis' notes the shades are wakin', 
Summer's syne no far awa'. 

When, to greet the early moinin', 
The lark doth hail day's gowden ba', 

When draps o' dew ilk leaf's adornin', 
Summer's svne no far awa'. 



152 

"When the thorny hedge is fragrant 
Wi' blossoms that bring forth the haw, 

When wanders wide the aged vagrant, 
Summer's syne no far awa\ 

"When the cuckoo's notes are booming 
Doon amang the birken shaw, 

"When the yellow broom is blooming, 
Summer's syne no far awa\ 

"When the hare bell and the gowan 
Mak our glens and meadows braw, 

And roses on the briars are growin', 
Summer's syne no far awa\ 

When the grieve struts up the furrows, 
An' wide abroad the seed does ca', — 

When the hind yokes too the harrows, 
Summer's syne no far awa'. 

When the oats and bear are brairded, 

'Tatoes in the grund an' a', 
And the drills frae craws are guarded, 

Summer's syne no far awa'. 

When high upon the lofty summit 
Of North Berwick's lofty law 

The morning mist sits like a bonnet, 
Summer's syne no far awa'. 



153 



LANGSYNE. 



I loved to climb auld Scotia's hills, 

My plaid about me cast, 
And, on her snow-clad rugged heights 

To meet the mountain blast ; 
To me the tempest's voice was sweet, 

The storm's wild rage sublime, 
When, strong of limb, and stern of mood, 

I woo'd the storm lang syne. 

I loved to see the lightning s glare 

Shoot through the murky sky, 
And, 'midst the elements' wild war, 

To list the storm sp'rit's cry. 
I loved to see the foaming wave 

Burst o'er the boiling line ; 
Auld Nature's voice, though frantic wild, 

Was joy to me lang syne. 

Nor less I loved the peaceful grove 

And sweetly rural scene, 
The mavis' sang, the birks amang^ 

On Summer's dewy e'en ; 



154 

The broomy knowes, the briary banks, 

That skirt the sylvan Tyne, 
Where aft wi' heartfelt pleasure pass'd 

My days wi' Jean lang syne. 

The wild briar still decks Tyne's fair banks, 

The primrose Lothian's lee, 
Still yellow blooms the bonny broom, 

But yield nae sweets for me ; 
The mavis sang nae mair enchants 

This lone, sad heart o' mine, 
That fell upon my raptured ear 

In ecstasy lang syne. 

The ecstatic throe of wedded bliss 

'Tis mine nae mair to prove, 
Nor cheers my soul the witching glance 

That speaks a woman's love, 
Nor share I now with my heart's mate 

The raptured hour divine, 
Nor fondly kiss the lips in love, 

As was my joy lang syne. 

Nor at my cheerful hearth I meet 

My bosom's earliest friend, 
With him, in interchange of thought, 

The evening hour to spend ; 
Or conn the olden classic page 

Or poesy's soaring line, 
Or sing auld Scotia's melting airs, 

As was our wont lang syne. 

By villains' arts, by priests' black guile, 
I wear the felon's chain, 



155 

But priests' base guile and tyrants' power 
Have sped their shafts in vain ; * 

Fix'd my resolve, as Arthur's rock, 
At every foe of thine, 

Freedom, I still defiance hurl, 
As fearless as lang syne. 

Though death, though danger, me surround, 

Though dark this dungeon's gloom, — 
Though I maun dree, for loving thee, 

The felon's vilest doom ; 
Yet my stern soul is fix'd and firm, 

Still round my heart-strings twine 
Thy love as pure, as ardent aye, 

As it did burn lang syne. 

Danger may fright, or death appal, 

The traitor or the slave, — 
The scaffold's dread, or battle-field, 

Can ne'er deter the brave : 
The soul once fired with Freedom's love, 

For evermore is thine, — 
Give to the breeze thy meteor flag, 

Til follow like lang syne. 

Though poortith's many ills may threat, 
Though tyrants' tools may rave, — 

Though nameless dangers wait my steps, 
Or yawns the patriot's grave ; 



* Several of the magistrates of Yorkshire, the paymasters of the 
monster Harrison, are priests, — state ones I mean. 



156 

Though hostile spears should me hedge round, 

'Midst war's embattled line, 
I follow still, where e'er ye lead, 

As ready as langsyne. 

Lead ye to where ten thousands meet, 

Thy cause I'll there declare, 
Or plant thy flag on war's wild field, 

I'll meet my tyrants there ; 
Give me but there my good claymore, 

Within this grasp of mine, 
Freedom ! thy ev'ry foe I'll spurn 

As fearless as langsyne ! 



F I X I S. 



Edinburgh : Printed by H. Armour, 54 South Bridge. 



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